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Stand up, dearest. Mr. Vail remembers me, I dare say, at your age 






MY MOTHER’S ENEMY. 



A STORY FOR GIRLS. 



LUCY CsElILLIE, 

l» 

AUTHOR OF “NAN,” “ROLF HOUSE,” “THE STORY OF ENGLISH 
LITERATURE,” “ MUSIC AND MUSICIANS,” ETC. 



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PHILADELPHIA ; 

PORTER & COATES. 





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COPYRICJHT, 1887, 
BY 

LUCY C. LILLIE. 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I. Mr. Vail’s Advice, 5 

II. Hilfokd Castle, - - - - - 13 

III. The Parting, - - - - - - -21 

IV. A Heroine, - - - - - - 25 

V. Britton Marsh, 32 

VI. Marketing, - - - - - - 46 

VII. The Deanery Woodland, - - - - - 54 

vni. My Heroine, - - - - - - 58 , 

IX. Little Britton House, - - - - - 65 

X. Albert Villa, ^6 

XI. Miss Bayard to the Rescue, - - - - 83 

XI I, Britton Bay, - ----- 90 

XHI. A Happy Evening, - - - - - - 98 

XIV. An Accident, 103 

XV. Charlie Germaine, - - . . - „ - 112 

XVI. The Amethysts, _ 124 

XVH. The Berlin Bazar, _ _ _ . . 130 

XVIII. Geoffrey Germaine, ----- 140 

XIX. Pleasant Expectations, - - - - - 145 

XX. Mallerdean, 132 

XXL Sir Henry Paulding, - - - - - 162 

XXII. A Revelation, - - - - , - - 167 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXIII. 

I Surprise the Bardistons, 


PAGE 

- 172 

XXIV. 

A Strange History, 

- 

- 

179 

XXV. 

Annie Ross, 

- 

- 

- 191 

XXVI. 

A Discovery, 

- 

- 

198 

XXVII. 

Mallerdean Again, - 

- 

- 

- 207 

XXVIII. 

Council, 

- 

- 

215 

XXIX. 

I Become Important, 

- 

- 

- 220 

XXX. 

Merrivale, 

- 

- 

227 

XXXI. 

A “ State” Visit, 

- 

- 

- 23s 

XXXII. 

The Reconciliation, 

- 

- 

248 

XXXIII. 

My Mother’s Sickness, 

- 

- 

- 258 

XXXIV. 

A Marriage at Little 

Britton 

House, 

267 


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WITH GRATITUDE AND LOVE. 


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MY MOTHER’S ENEMY 


CHAPTER I. 

MR. VAIL’S advice. 

T he “ Story ” part of my life always seems to me to have 
begun on a certain spring day in a lawyer’s office in Eng- 
land, where I can see myself, a girl of fifteen, seated in a 
remote window while my mother and a thin little old gentle- 
man with kind eyes were discussing business matters at a 
table which formed the central object in the room. 

Bits of their talk reached me easily and directed my atten- 
tion from the objects in the quaint old High Street of the 
town, which I could see below Mr. Vail’s window. Mother 
was telling this friend of her girlhood what had brought us 
to England — how she had not intended to remain, but that 
as it seemed imperative now for her to take a long journey 
she wished to place me somewhere quietly in the country 
for six weeks or, it might be, two months. 

These facts alone would have sufficed to keep my attention, 
but the interest lay in deeper causes. My mother, I knew, 
was English born and bred ; yet in all the years of our close 
companionship since my father’s death — companionship 
such as a young mother and her only child who live nearly 
alone can have— she had rarely told me any thing of the 


6 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


story of her early life. The few tales, related more because 
of some unexpected suggestion in passing events, borrowed 
much of their charm from the very fact of her general reti- 
cence about England and her relations there ; but now it 
appeared to my alert young senses as though the vague 
outlines might be filling up ; gaps which had puzzled me in 
the tales she had told me might be drawn together by the 
very course of our wanderings — if we had any — and the 
people we should meet ; and even this dingy office on the 
High Street of Hilford, even the little old gentleman who 
asked more questions than he gave information, seemed 
to possess a distinctly attractive importance of their own, 
and I felt — light-hearted, wholesome girl that I was — as if 
I were absorbing the elements of a romance. 

In and out of the conversation had come friendly ques- 
tions as to mother’s life in America. The uneventful but 
happy years of our life together, and which, so far as my 
memory reached, had been passed in a New England town, 
a prosperous, comfortable sort of place, encompassed by 
fine hills and with various thriving industries and noted for 
its “ Young Ladies’ Seminary,” where my mother was one 
of the principal teachers and I a pupil, ever since I could 
remember. Our circumstances were fairly comfortable, 
though never luxurious, and I grew up having more of my 
mother’s companionship than many girls whose mothers 
have full leisure ; and we were privileged persons, I now 
think, enjoying a kind of freedom which made the school 
like our own home. In spite of some enforced economies 
we had two rooms for what mother called a “ place ” quite 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


7 


to ourselves, and her exquisite sense of order and artistic 
taste had given them an indefinable air which made them 
unlike any other portion of the large, rambling old house, 
which, as I remember it in those days of long ago, was 
primly, rigidly conventional. Mother’s ingenuity went far 
enough to create so charming a little sitting-room that the 
principal was given to bringing strangers there sometimes — 
too often for our convenience — but looking back now I see 
that Mrs. Flower was nothing loth to introduce to visitors 
her very distinguished looking and highly bred “ English 
teacher,” while they were apt, of an afternoon, to linger for 
the cup of tea which, true to her early habits, my mother 
always made at four o’clock, brewing not boiling it, under a 
cosey, and serving it daintily in the pretty blue and white 
china which was one of the earliest associations in my mind 
with our little parlor sideboard. 

How eagerly the girls sought for an invitation to “ Mrs. 
Glenn’s room ! ” and not one but felt herself honored by 
such an attention' and cheered or comforted or encouraged 
by a talk with her ; for, in spite of a tinge of something 
almost melancholy in her expression, I am sure my mother 
was to every one a most charming companion, with that 
indescribable touch of magnetism in her nature and manner 
which is too subtle to be defined but so quick and happy in 
its influence. 

Among my mother’s favorite pupils were the daughters of 
an American gentleman, a widower who had been engaged 
for six months in Russia on some civil-engineering work. 
Mary and Stella Hill had won my mother’s sympathy and 


8 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


attention at first from their overpowering homesickness; and 
when the first flush of their misery was over she discovered 
that they were really charming girls, well bred, gentle and 
quite clever enough to suit her ideas of what a school girl 
ought to be in class; so they were allowed to attach them- 
selves to her in a way which might have made some daugh- 
ters jealous ; but such an idea_would have- struck me as 
an absurdity! The idea of any girl usurping one tiniest fiber 
of my place ! No such question ever arose, I rejoice to say, 
to cloud the absolute trust that existed between my mother 
and myself. Mr. Hill was expected home in April. 
Instead of this came news of his detention at St. Peters- 
burg for another year, and a letter couched in the strongest 
terms, asking my mother to bring his daughters to England, 
where he would meet them. To extend the journey just 
then was out of the question for him. I wonder now, 
looking back, just what influenced my mother to accede to 
this]unexpected request, for it involved her taking a holiday 
at a most inopportune moment and placing some one else 
in the school to fill her class duty. Possibly the strivings 
of a desire at least to see her native country were under- 
current and stronger than she knew, and in any case the 
doctor had long since recommended a change and suggested 
a sea voyage. At all events her decision was quickly made, 
and three weeks later saw us in Hilford, an unlooked for 
emergency having made it necessary for my mother to 
continue her journey with the Hills, and meantime dispose 
of me in some suitable fashion. Mr. Hill, at the last 
moment, had found it impossible to leave St. Petersburg, 


MY MOTHERS S EATEMV. 


9 


and there was nothing for mother to do but escort the girls 
to Russia, and place them safely in their father’s care, an 
arrangement which suited them admirably, while, in spite of 
a pang at the thought of her leaving me, I could not help 
being delighted by the prospect of a few weeks in England. 

“ I must count on at least six weeks absence,” my mother 
was saying, “ and as you — know every thing — dear Mr. 
Vail, I felt sure you would be the best one to advise me as 
to where Helen could remain in my absence. I could trust 
: my little girl to whomever you recommended.” 
i Mr. Vail’s considerations and discussions with mother 
on this point had finally resulted in two propositions — one 
i that I should remain with his sister and himself, the invita- 
tion most cordially given and with reference to “ old 
times ; ” the other that I should go down to a place in the 
country called “ Britton Marsh,” where a client of his 
took two or three girls of my age to board and teach. 

■ “ It is really fortunate, I think,” said Mr. Vail, with a 

I kindly glance in my direction, that you have brought your 
I daughter with you.” 

I ‘‘ O, I could not bear to leave her,” answered mother, 
smiling. “ And, after all, I am glad she will see something 
of England.” 

“ Ah, I thought so ! ” he exclaimed. “ I feel sure in your 
heart you meant to stay awhile, and then, when you return, 
you must try to renew some of your old friendships. It is 
sixteen years since — ” he broke off suddenly, warned by a 
glance from my mother. Her blue eyes seemed to express 
a “ No,” and her fair, delicate face flushed almost pain- 


lO 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


fully. “ Helen ” and “ knows nothing of it,’' reached me ; 
from the next whispered sentence, and I felt myself con- 1 
fused and perplexed, but presently Mr. Vail’s cheery accents 
sounded in a higher key. I 

“ Well, well, I’m glad you care something for your coun- 
try, any way. And now you’ll go off and come back from 
Russia brighter and stronger.” 

“ O, stronger ! ” interrupted mother with her pretty laugh. 

I am always strong enough. I tell that tall girl of mine 
I had never had rosy cheeks such as she has ! It wasn’t 
natural to me. And she is taller than I am now. Stand 
up, dearest. Mr. Vail remembers me, I dare say, at your 
age.” 

“ Yes, yes,” murmured the old man, adjusting his spec- 
tacles as we laughingly stood before him, and I can see 
now the reflection of our two figures — mother and daughter 
— which the tall, narrow mirror on a wall across the room 
gave back. My mother, so fair and youthful-looking for 
her eight and thirty years — a slender little figure, always 
wearing black but in exquisite quiet taste ; a face nearly 
perfect in outline and finish, the eyes deep, gentian ” blue, 
as the girls at school used to declare, and shaded by gold- 
colored lashes ; the hair a perfect golden, save where some 
lines of silver touched it. But with all that was undeniably 
beauty there was something about my mother, something 
which it would seem the sorrow from God’s hand had stamped 
upon her, which set her apart from all demonstrative admi- 
ration. No one ever thought of paying her the kind of 
careless compliments which any merely pretty ” woman 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


II 


generally receives. No one ever suggested her altering the 
simplicity of her mourning dress because this or that or the 
other would be “becoming” or was “fashionable.” My 
mother’s beauty, I think now, had a sort of sanctity about it 
which made such intrusion impo.ssible, and yet I, her care- 
less young daughter, used to wonder about it and believe 
that it had always been so ; that my mother never could 
have known the harmless vanities or satisfactions of bloom- 
ing youth — and who would have fancied me her daughter ! 

Let me tell you what I remember of the other figure in 
the mirror. A tall girl, with vitality, good spirits and light- 
heartedness in every line of her smiling face ; not abeautiful 
•face, then or ever, but with the charm of youth and the joy- 
ousness of an untried future giving the eyes their look of 
happy and yet perhaps a trifle wistful expectancy. Brown 
eyes, not a bit of “ gentian ” in them. A fairly good nose and 
a rosy mouth, not very small, but showing fine white teeth, 
and the hair which coiled about my head in heavy braids 
was nut-brown, and just — to my distress — tinged with 
red. 

“We must be off. now,” said mother, moving suddenly, 
so that the picture before me was dissolved. “ Helen and 
I have, just this one day together, and I am going to take 
her for a ramble. Then, if you will leave the two offers 
open, dear Mr. Vail, we will come back, as you kindly sug- 
gested, for luncheon with you and your sister, and I will 
decide what to do with my — big baby here ! ” 

So it was settled. Mr. Vail accompanied us to the door, 
directing us how to find the old castle of the town, among 


12 


MV MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


whose ruins we meant to sit down for a time while mother 
told me the story of the place, and we passed out into the 
sunny old street, conscious that this was our last day 
together for weeks and yet bent on making a genuine holi- 
day of it. 


CHAPTER II. 


HILFORD CASTLE. 



HE “ High Street ” of the old town was crowded when 


mother and I went out into it, and I enjoyed observing 
all that was novel and picturesque in the people and objects 
about me; for it was market day, and farmers from all the 
neighboring villages had come in, their carts well laden, and 
generally presided over by some feminine members of the 
family. A buxom matron in her best gown and gayest 
bonnet and shawl, perched high on the “ box seat,” or a 
blooming maiden whose wide-open eyes traveled up and 
down the street, eager to take in every evidence of “ town ” 
life or exhibition of town manners and styles, perhaps to 
report or imitate them, as the case might be, on returning 
home again. The farmers not infrequently walked beside 
their carts, well dressed in corduroy or homespun, and pre- 
senting fine, weather-beaten countenances, as a rule good- 
humored and healthy, while there were plenty of boys to be 
seen in smock-frocks and broad-brimmed hats, and occa- 
sionally old men similarly attired, while here and there a group 
of purchasers or a gig-load of people marked the upper class 
of farming or trades-people, but all with a certain mingling 
of holiday and business aspect which gave the town an 
air of importance, half festive and half solidly prosperous. 

Market dinners ” were advertised at various inns, and it 


14 


MV MOTHERS ENEMY, 


was evident were in process of cooking, from the savory 
odors which reached us as we made our way past some of 
the smaller inns or hostelries, one of which was quaint enough 
in architecture and casements to have stood just where it 
did, on a corner near the Town Cross, since the days of the 
Protector. We had a little shopping to do, and selected one 
of the principal shops in the High Street, mother lingering 
over the purchases lovingly, since they were for me, and 
doubtless reflecting somewhat ruefully, as I did myself, that 
for the first time in my life I would be away from her when 
I first wore the dress and gloves and pretty jacket she was 
selecting. I was delighted and soon engrossed by a dressing- 
case, very much such a one, mother said, as she had when a 
girl, and the stocking of it was a fascinating employment, 
mother enjoying it, she said, quite as much as I did myself, 
and choosing pretty although inexpensive articles. 

Now then,” she said, linking her arm in mine as we left 
the shop after concluding this last purchase, “ let us take 
a nice walk. Come, Helen, we will explore the old ruins.” 

The “keep” of the old castle of Hilford crested the 
ridge of an eminence scarcely to be called a hill, and 
yet which gave us, when we left the thoroughfares of the 
town, a little climb. When we entered the grand, although 
half-ruined, archway forming the entrance to the keep, we 
were glad to sit down for a few moments any way before 
exploring the ruined chambers, whose floors were now of 
grass and weeds, yet within which the flower of English 
beauty and chivalry had once bloomed and, alas ! too 
often in those old days, languished and died alone. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. i5 

The place in which we found ourselves — I with a thor- 
oughly American spirit of investigation, and feeling in no 
degree connected with this interesting old England — was 
a large inclosure, which perhaps in the days of the Nor- 
mans formed an outer hall, since it was set apart appar- 
ently from the dwelling part and public offices of the castle. 
Its walls were pierced with but few windows, although 
those of the ruins beyond showed many, now richly hung 
with ivy and catching all the sparkle and sunshine of the 
day. 

The spot where we sat was in an angle formed by a bit 
of still solid masonry, whence we could see “the country 
I for miles around — mother’s country, not mine — yet I felt 
my heart thrill with something which I believe all Americans 
‘ experience in beholding the land of their forefathers — an 
emotion not to be called patriotism, but rather loyalty to the 
ages which precede ; nay, may we not say, have formed us ? 

But mother’s eyes were gazing on the landscape, softly, 
not with any tourist-like alertness ; half-tearful, and evi- 
dently dimmed by remembrances which this peaceful scene 
brought up. The downs and the stretch of gorse-covered 
moor to the right were full of dancing sunbeams. Through 
I the shadowy portions of the old town a river wound its 
way, sparkling with every bend and quiver, while beyond all 
I this — beyond the turrets, gables, red roofs and hilly streets 
of the town — broad waves of sunlight showed us meadow 
i lands and forest, the sheltered glades of a ‘‘ park ” or 
“place,” the fairness of some upland which the spring- 
l;ime had already tQijcbcd with its smiling caress. 


i6 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


It was a picture hard to associate with the fierce period j 
which called its divisions and its architecture into exist- 
ence. Yet I was fresh from my studies of English history 
which illustrated the stories mother had to tell. I knew j 
that King John in his most reckless days had held high] 
revel in the town ; that under Richard II. a cruel constable 
had made the people live — often hide away — in terror, while 
even where we sat the groans of prisoners in secret dun- 
geons of the castle used to be heard, giving rise to many ak 
weird tale of the old place being haunted. Yet there were! 
happier associations, too, picturesque and romantic. Hitherj 
came Queen Eleanor and her pious court. Here danced 
the Ladies Brandon in the happy days before their brother’s 
death, and from that old monastic doorway one might 
almost fancy even now the fair face and figure of Queen 
Margaret as she doled out the Christmas alms to the poor 
who trooped up the slope with smiling eyes and uplifted ■ 
aprons. 

‘‘ O, mother ! ” I exclaimed, suddenly linking my arm ini 
hers after a fashion I had, and cuddling ” closer to her so( 
that I could put my head down comfortably on her shoul-j 
der (only long practice had made this possible and 
easy). Mother, what are you thinking of ? ” 

My mother smiled. 

“What do you suppose?” — she spoke with unusual ani- 
mation. “ Look, Helen, do you see, across there, that strip 
of roadway winding over the moors ? See how it divides 
the bushes of gorse. Well, do you know I was conjuring^^ 
up, bit by bit, the picture which might have been seeni 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


17 


there one day. First a donkey, carrying a saddle-bag or 
pannier at one side, on the other a pair of sturdy little legs 
and feet. Mine, my dear ; for I was sitting on the donkey, 
and very proud because I was allowed to ride up there and 
see the gorse, or furze, cut. My brother Allan was with 
me, and another brother was coming to meet us. I remem- 
ber that day so well because, you see, I was strictly brought 
up, and not often trusted out alone just with the boys. But 
what a day it was ! ” 

She went on sketching various details, amusing and 
happy, which were impressed on my mind not only because 
they belonged to a personal reminiscence of my mother’s 
but for the reason that my eyes were resting on the actual 
scene of the girlish adventures she was relating. The road 
wound like a white ribbon across the slope of the stretch of 
moor, dividing the furze bushes and forming a distinct if 
dusty track, on whose crest, while we watched it and 
talked, an object appeared slowly defining itself against 
the horizon as a caravan drawn by donkeys, at each side of 
which some men and women were leisurely walking. Only 
a suggestion of something florid or unconventional in their 
costumes could be observed from where we sat, but mother 
exclaimed, laughing, “ Why, there are some gipsies, too — 
and there was a caravan of them that day ! But,” she added 
in a moment, no doubt lest I should, as usual, begin 
indulging in some romantic notions on the subject, 
“it’s perfectly natural, however, to expect them on any 
fine day at this season,” and immediately began to tell 


i8 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


me about the gipsies she remembered as part of that 
especial experience. 

I was a bit over-romantic, or enthusiastic, on something 
akin to it, and my mother had the wisest, gentlest way of 
keeping my mind wholesome and steady. She never laughed 
at me for any thing unless an absolute folly ; never tried to 
ridicule me out of an enthusiasm, but quietly let me see that 
another “ point of view ” — one of her favorite expressions 
— was more preferable, more “ earnest ” or “ sincere,” above 
all, more “ real,” and so I could bring my silly little head 
promptly down out of the clouds with no dread of mortifi- 
cation in applying myself to terra jirma and its realities 
again. 

“ Go on, mother dear,” I exclaimed. “ Do tell me some 
more. Where were you living then ? ” ' 

“ You can’t see the house from here. I was only visiting, 
any way.” 

I fancied a change in her voice. We sat silent for a mo- 
ment. Then mother looked at her watch. 

Come, dearest, we must be going back to Mr. Vail’s. 
As I remember her, old Miss Vail is very punctual.” 

We rose to our feet, I rather disappointed that mother’s 
spirit of reminiscence had carried her no further, and a 
little sorry we had not investigated the rest of the ruins ; 
but it was certainly fun to think of lunching with old Mr. 
and Miss Vail. All English experiences were fascinating 
to me. Mother went ahead, going down the little slope 
slowly, pausing once or twice to pick up some bit of the 
first of the spring blossoms showing their heads so daintily 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


19 


among the pale April greens. At the foot, just where the 
last piece of solid Norman wall rose to mark the place once 
so boldly guarded, she paused suddenly. Some one was 
standing there — a tall, elderly gentleman with a pale and 
handsome face — who was regarding her with eyes in 
which a glow of most mournful intensity seemed to be 
burning. 

All the softness and happiness had gone out of mother’s 
look. Something I had never seen was there instead — 
scorn, sorrow of a bitter kind. Even now I hardly know 
what to call the thing which had driven out of my mother’s 
eyes the look I knew and loved. The gentleman stood 
absolutely still for an instant, then without further evidence 
of recognition passed on, while mother, catching my hand 
in hers, fairly swept me away and out into the High Street 
again. 

“ Mother,” I exclaimed, eagerly, who was that man ? 
Why did you look at him like that ? ” 

“ O, Helen,” mother answered in a low tone that was 
tremulous with emotion, “ don’t ask me, dear. O, come on, 
my darling ! I had no idea he was here. I have decided 
now. You had better go to stay with Mr. Vail’s friends at 
Britton-Marsh. Yes, I have decided.” 

“ But, mother dearest,” I pleaded, won’t you tell me 
something more?” 

“ O, you would not ask if you knew it all, my love,” 
said mother. She had to wipe some tears out of her eyes. 
“ Don’t ask me. Here is Mr. Vail’s garden. Thank for- 
tune we can hurry in ! ” 


20 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY 


Perhaps something in the pleading of my eyes struck her 
suddenly. 

My dear,” she said, in a very low voice, “ you must 
never talk or think of him again. He was, perhaps — no 
doubt — /j, my enemy.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE PARTING. 

M y mother’s enemy ! The words seemed to darken the 
very sunshine which a moment before had made the 
old street radiant. But there was no opportunity to discuss 
the subject further, and even had there been time I am 
sure my mother would have forbidden it. But it was 
impossible for me to keep a dozen wild conjectures out of 
my mind, and as we knocked at Mr. Vail’s door — the house 
was a quiet-looking one, of brick half-smothered in ivy — the 
vision of mother’s “enemy,” the pale, elderly face and deep 
set eyes, rose before me, and in spite of all my interest in 
the visit we were about making I could think of little else. 
Who was he ? Where had mother known him first ? 
Where did he live ? Shall I ever see him again ? These 
questions danced impatiently through my mind as we stood 
on the old-fashioned doorstep of Mr. Vail’s house. Can 
you not fancy the eager, restless, girlish figure, the eyes 
that would have liked to pierce all the future, the impatient 
young lips which would have asked any questions just to 
have the problem of the moment solved ? Whether mother 
read all of this in her daughter’s face I do not know. Some 
of it of course was apparent to that keen discrimination of 
hers, and as the door was opened she laid one of her hands 
on my arm and, smiling, just gave her head a little shake 


22 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


that I understood. It was her way often of advising me 
to “ keep cool ” or quiet. 

A trim-looking young maid-servant admitted us into a 
rather somber hallway with a spidery-looking staircase, a 
great many engravings, and just one bit of color — in the 
open doorway below which looked into a bright garden. 
Thence we were ushered into a large old-fashioned room 
where Mr. Vail and his sister, a tiny little old lady, were 
evidently waiting to receive us. 

Mother’s delicate face flushed all over as the old lady 
took her hands, called her “ Ada,” and kissed her on both 
cheeks ; and then I had to be made known, and Miss Vail 
said : ! 

“ Dear me ! dear me ! Ada ! Not possible this girl is ' 
yours.” 

And mother laughed, and the old people laughed, and 
we were all very merry for a few moments together. But 
before luncheon even mother had made known her decision ' 
to the old lawyer, thanked him for his kindness, but | 
expressed her desire to have me go to Britton-Marsh at ; 

I ' 

once. j 

“ Did you not say you were going there this afternoon ? ” i 
mother inquired, so anxiously that I wondered if he would ’I 
not see that she had a special reason for hurrying me away , 
from Hilford. ^ 

“ To-morrow morning,” he answered. “ But surely you | 
will leave her with us for one night ? ” 

We were on our way across the hall to the dining-room, | 
and for a moment mother seemed inclined to draw back 


MV MOTHER^S ENEMY. 


23 


and say something apart to him. But there came a second 
thought, and she was silent. How much in the future, I 
used afterward to think, depended on that hesitation and 
final silence, for it so chanced that she was obliged to hurry 
away after luncheon, and, I know, said not'a word to her 
old friend of her encounter with the dark stranger I already 
called the “ enemy.” 

The dining-room, if a trifle shabby and old-fashioned, 
had a bright center in the table so daintily laid and 
sparkling with glass and silver, and as it was my first meal 
in an English home I concluded that every thing was 
typical ; and a very nice, tempting sort of meal it was. 
Miss Vail’s manners were so sweet and “ ladylike ” — a 
term seldom to be used, for it is seldom thoroughly under- 
stood, but it fitted the dainty little old maiden whose 
manners had the fine finish and yet quaintness of a century 
ago, and they were like what a “ lady ” should be — kind 
and always considerate. 

When she addressed the maid it was as politely as when 
she spoke to mother and me, and I remember her tone in 
saying, 

“ Jane, will you please see if there is not a draught on 
Mrs. Glenn ! I think the window is too wide open.” 

And Jane’s : 

“ Yes, miss,” was prompt and respectful, and when the 
window was adjusted Miss Vail said : 

“ That’s very nice. Quite right, Jane,” and a quick 
smile passed between the two, mistress and maid, savoring 
in no way of familiarity, but just what it ought to have 


24 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


been, a pleasant recognition of a little skillfully rendered 
service, and the maid went about her duties, I am sure, all 
the more anxious to earn another such friendly glance. 

I clung to mother with dim eyes when the hour of part- 
ing came. It was our first separation, and all the delights 
which I had fancied it involved were forgotten, as we said 
good-by. I pity girls — and mothers, too — who have not 
known the sort of friendship, of comradeship, which ought 
to exist between mother and daughter, and which did in the 
most perfect way exist between my mother and me ; yet no 
doubt I was selfish enough, as all children are to their 
parents, fancying the world was all mine and forgetting 
some of what was mother’s share in it. 

But just then all the cry in my heart was to go with her. 
I kept it choked down, of course. Above all things I hated 
looking silly, and when mother had driven away, when I 
had caught the last glimpse of her sweet pale face in the 
carriage window, the last wave of her hand, I felt I must 
control myself and remember I was among strangers. Miss 
Vail’s voice just at my shoulder sounded very friendly. 

“ Now, my dear,” she was saying cheerily, “ don’t you 
want to come up to my room for awhile ? I always have to 
take a rest every afternoon, but you can sit by me and I’ll 
tell you all I can about Britton-Marsh.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A HEROINE. 

M ISS VAIL explained, as we went into her room, that she 
was “ something of an invalid,” and had to allow herself 
certain indulgences, like this rest of an afternoon. “ But 
dear me, Helen,” she said, smiling upon me, years ago, 
when your mother was at home, as she will remember, I was 
very different ! Ready for any kind of excitement or 
fatigue ! Did your mother ever tell you about one famous 
Hilford Fair-time when she was young ? ” 

I shook my head. 

Mother — doesn’t like to talk of those times,” I said, a 
trifle sadly. Miss Vail’s tone changed at once. She was 
preparing to make herself comfortable on her lounge, and 
also to arrange a little low chair close by for me, and she 
said briskly, 

“ Oh ! well, well ! No doubt it is foolish to keep living 
in the past, but I own to enjoying nothing more than to talk 
or think of old times.” 

We talked very sociably until the spring twilight was fast 
approaching. Still, Miss Vail had given me few points of 
information. Britton-Marsh, it appeared, was an old-fash- 
ioned town, with some manufacturing interests, but a 
distinctly aristocratic center of its own, “ haughty and exclu- 
sive,” to quote her phrase. I cared nothing just then for 
this. I wanted to hear about the people I was likely to 


26 


My MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


meet. And dimly, but with a consciousness of disloyalty 
to mother which forbade my asking questions, I wished she 
would give me some hint of the “ enemy.” But none came. 
She seemed anxious to interest me in the household I was 
to be in, and at last I forced myself to forget the subject 
and person which had so piqued my curiosity and to listen 
attentively to what she was saying about my future com- 
panions, the Bardistons. 

“ They are very worthy people, my love,” said dear old 
Miss Vail in her indulgent, charitable sort of voice. But 
life has been a sort of struggle with them. Mr. Bardiston’s 
father was an army officer, and I am afraid — that is I think — 
he was not always as wise or prudent as he might have been, 
and brought his children up with an idea of unnecessary 
luxury and extravagance. Poor Mr. Bardiston was — well, 
born a failure, I may say. Very improvident and over hope- 
ful, and he died, I understand, when he felt most sanguine 
about the success of some of his speculations. The children 
are very nice.” 

Oh, are there children ? ” I was more interested in 
them than in the luxurious captain or the speculative Mr. 
Bardiston. 

“ Well, Cecilia is hardly a child” said Miss Vail, thought- 
fully ; “ quite your age, I should say, and a fine, good girl — 
a little apt to be morose or bad-tempered, perhaps. And 
Cuthbert, when I saw him last, was a promising boy.” 

But isn’t it a school ? ” I inquired, charmed by the 
prospect of Cecilia,” in spite of her tendency to morose- 
ness or bad-temper. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


^7 


“ Well, yes. That is what it is Mrs. Bardiston’s desire to 
make it. At present, I believe there are very few pupils ; 
but, Helen, there is a possibility of your finding a friend in 
Miss Bayard.” 

I echoed the name, not remembering ever to have heard 
of it. “ Does she live there ? ” I inquired. “ And will she 
come to see me ? Did she know my mother ? ” 

O, yes ; I mean she knew your mother, but I can not 
say for certain whether she will come to see you. But, my 
dear Helen, I want to impress one thing upon you. 
course I am well aware that your mother has her own 
reasons for not caring to renew old associations here ; it 
was very kind of her not to include us ; still, if Miss Bayard 
should show herself friendly I am certain your mother 
could not object to it, and it would be a most fortunate 
thing all around,” she added. 

“ How will she know I am there ? Where does she live ? ” 
I asked eagerly. 

“ I presume there will be chances ; there always are, some- 
how, in this world,” said Miss Vail, with the contented phil- 
osophy which belongs to a quiet life. “ And you will be 
sure to find out where she lives. She is a very well-known 
person, a rich woman, and rather lonely, I fancy. Not very 
benevolent. She was a famous beauty in her young days. 
Dear me ! I well remember her at a splendid party twenty 
years ago ! She was the loveliest creature. If I give you 
my keys you can fetch a scrap-book from my secretary over 
there and I’ll show you a little water-color sketch which 


28 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


came into my possession rather oddly. It was done by — 
well no matter — you would not know the name." 

I gladly took the keys, and after a slight search found the 
scrap-book of twenty years ago, which I brought back to 
the sofa, turning its pages over under Miss Vail’s direction, 
skipping various bits of landscape and architecture, until 
she said There ! ’’ and laid her hand on the important 
page. 

The face of a beautiful, spirited, and imperious girl 
looked up at me. She was dressed in a dark-green riding- 
habit made brilliant by scarlet facings, the broad-brimmed 
beaver hat having plumes of green and red. If there was 
a fault to be found in this girlish beauty, it was in a certain 
domineering pride, which must have been in her expression, 
since even this sketch reproduced it. The dark eyes seemed 
to challenge fate or even contradiction, but the lips were 
curved in a charming smile. I was perfectly delighted, 
and after one or two “ O’s ! ’’ of satisfaction begged to know 
more of this wonderful Miss Bayard, whom I might chance 
to see ; and, holding the page up to catch the full light, saw 
under it in masculine characters : 

“AMABEL HELEN BAYARD, 1856.’’ 

“ My name. Miss Vail ! " I exclaimed : “ And Amabel 
— what a beautiful name ! like Amy’s — darling Amy in the 
Heir of Redclyffe. O, how perfectly splendid ! ’’ (N. B. — 
Girls, we said “ splendid ’’ then as you, nowadays, say 
“ grand. ’’) 

“ So it is your name ! Why, I wonder if your mother 
could have done it for that reason ? ’’ Miss Vail was quite 










MV MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


29 


excited over this coincidence and its suggestion. I put my 
head on my hand for a brief consideration of the case. 

“Yes,” I said, suddenly, “I do remember now mother 
told me she had named me for an English friend.” 

Miss Vail as an old lady, I am afraid, was nearly as 
romantic as I was as a young girl, and after dinner, while 
her brother dozed in his arm-chair, we sauntered about the 
garden, a trifle too chilly, no doubt, but very much absorbed 
in discussing Miss Bayard ; and is it to be wondered at if 
I went to bed with my girlish head full of fancies and pro- 
jects, none of which were very practical or even probable ! 
Yet one among them seeming to me quite proper and 
feasible : I would wait a certain length of time at Britton- 
Marsh hoping for an accidental meeting with this beautiful 
Miss Bayard, after which I would send her a little note tell- 
ing her I thought I was named for her and would like so 
much to see her before leaving England. What gave this 
idea its permanent impression was the fact that on confiding 
it to Miss Vail the next morning she declared it might do 
very well, and added : “ I am sure your mother couldn’t 
object.” 

Now as it never any more occurred to me to do anything 
without mother’s permission and advice than it would to 
walk boldly into open danger, I decided that after allowing 
Miss Bayard one week to discover my vicinity I would 
write and ask mother just what to do. 

I felt quite excited when the time for leaving came. Mr. 
Vail was to meet me at the station, having business at his 
office until the last moment, but Miss Vail, and Jane 


3 ° 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


carrying my hand-bag, escorted me to the train, my 
trunk having been sent on, and the dear little old lady 
was as friendly and affectionate in her leave-takings as if I 
had known her always, while I found myself no longer 
depressed but feeling sure I was about to step into the 
midst of something wonderful, and events as exciting as 
any thing which had ever happened to my beloved heroes 
and heroines of romance. Well, of course, if nothing had 
occurred I should have had no story to tell you — but stories 
are only chronicles, after all, of the strangeness and peculi- 
arity of circumstances. For the most part I am inclined 
to think very romantic events few enough in real life, in 
spite of the old adage about truth being stranger than fic- 
tion. 

“ Good-by, my dear,” said Miss Vail, for the third time, 
when I was comfortably in my corner of the railway car- 
riage. “ Geoffrey, take good care of her ; and Helen,” this 
in a whisper, “ if you meet Miss Bayard be sure to write 
and let me know.” 

I nodded and said as fervent an “ Oh, yes,” as if Miss 
Vail had been one of the girls at school waiting to hear 
how some adventure would turn out. Then her dear old 
face was withdrawn, and I found myself whirling through 
a country of pale spring green and blossom, and as the 
train curved about a bend in the little river I caught sight 
of the old castle keep,” where yesterday I had sat and 
watched the furzy downs with my mother. Oh, if only I 
knew where she had lived — whom she had visited that time, 
and who was “ Allan ” and the other brother. Could it be 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


31 


— Oh no, brothers couldn’t be enemies, I argued to myself, 
as, curled up comfortably, I watched the fleeting land- 
scape, the jumble of roofs disappearing swiftly, conscious 
that one of them might once have sheltered the little 
“ sturdy-legged ” girl on the donkey of long ago ; but my 
most enjoyable reflections centered about Miss Bayard, 
whom I felt certain what I called “ fate ” would lead me 
to see. 


CHAPTER V. 


BRITTON-MARSH. 

I T has been my good fortune to spend many happy daysj 
in the country of my mother’s birth " and to see many^ 
charming places, but for some reason, difficult to define,! 
Britton-Marsh retains the permanent association of a “ first’ 
love ” in my mind, and no breath of landscape, no beauty] 
of architecture elsewhere makes up to me for the fascina-{ 
tion of the little rambling town, encompassed by a richly" 
diversified country, through which late on that spring after-J 
noon Mr. Vail and I drove from the railway station, up andl 
down crooked and wide streets to the “ Villa,” fronting a 
quaint old green, where Mrs. Bardiston lived. Such elements 
as I observed — the prominent market buildings, hoary with! 
age, and, it being market-day, their porches filled with’ 
country people of all classes, from the prosperous farmei^ 
to the shepherd in a smock frock, the streets of quiet antiq- 
uity, or the high garden walls that sheltered some fine 
secluded dwellings, the lanes running here and there out of 
streets well built though straggling, the High Street, witl? 
its variety of shops and air of contented although old-fashj 
ioned prosperity — all captivated my fancy and made me 
decide that, whether I found a hero or heroine or not, I aT 
least, should have the comfort of a most fascinating ‘‘ setting 1 
for creatures of my imagination, I 


I 





1 


4 ’^ 


,V 

I 





MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


33 


And the sea was not far away. Mr. Vail had told me of 
this, and I fancied the rich salt scents were in the air. There 
had been a little rain, scarcely enough to disturb the tender 
azure of the sky, but the air was pleasantly cool, almost 
windy for an August day, as, in what Miss Vail had spoken 
of the day before as the “ half-lights,” we drove up to 
Albert Villa, by which name Mrs. Bardiston’s dwelling was 
known. A little garden fronted it ; the house, built of stucco, 
was painted a sort of reddish-brown, and the windows on 
the lower flo^r were curved or bowed, those above having 
swinging casements, within which I caught sight of pretty 
chintz hangings. The rooms below showed fire-light and 
moving figures. Somehow, though by no means “ fine,” or 
in any way suggestive of the surroundings which I sup- 
posed would be Miss Bayard’s, this place looked home-like 
and inviting. 

Our carriage, or fly,” as Mr. Vail called it, had barely 
stopped before the door of the house was opened. A maid- 
servant came running down the path and two figures 
appeared on the threshold ; a lady in a widow’s cap and 
with a kind and anxious sort of face, a girl rather older than 
myself, tall and despondent looking. My small belongings 
were taken by the maid, and in a few moments I found 
myself shaking hands with Mrs. Bardiston and being intro- 
duced to her daughter Cecily, the depressed-looking young 
girl, who brightened, however, as she greeted me, a sort of 
color creeping into her sallow cheeks and making her almost 
pretty for the moment. 

Mr. Vail explained at once that he had to hasten off to 


34 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


see his client, but that he would call in the morning before 
returning to Hilford. Always quick in his movements, the 
kind little old gentlemen had vanished almost before we had 
time to appreciate that he was going, and I was led by my 
hostess into the sitting-room whose fire-light had gleamed 
so hospitably through the windows. 

I don’t know how it was that I formed a very swift but 
definite impression that the Bardistons must be poor people, 
with that kind of poverty hardest to bear, since it is endured 
with a constant effort at concealment. The sitting-room 
seemed to have been very freshly put in order. Accustomed 
to the every-day homeliness and simplicity of my mother’s 
parlor in New England, I was quick to detect where there 
had been an impromptu attempt at cheap decoration, and 
wondered why some really good engravings were hung 
almost out of sight and some very shiny looking colors with 
a high glaze brought into prominence, while the chairs, sofa, 
and footstools, the center table with its gay cover and illus- 
trated gift books, were arranged with an air of mathematical 
precision which only produced an effect of bareness on my 
mind and made me feel as though any thing homelike or 
sociable would be impossible here. But my welcome was 
all that could be desired. Mrs. Bardiston, in spite of the 
anxious puckers in her face, was all brisk cordiality as she 
begged me to lay aside my wraps and have a cup of tea 
before going up stairs. 

“ Here, Cecily,” she exclaimed, “ take Miss Glenn’s hat 
and jacket — oh ! ” with a glance at the tall girl’s retreating 
figure, ‘‘ she has gone for the tea things, I suppose. There, 


MY MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


35 


my dear, sit right down by the fire. It isn’t very bright. 
You see we make the room off the dining-room more our 
general parlor.” I could not help a feeling of relief. “ And 
so it is scarcely worth while to keep this fire always going. 
But of course if it were ever wanted — if you preferred sit- 
ting in here of an evening — ” 

I felt very much ashamed that she should think of such 
a thing for an instant, and hastened to say that I would be 
most comfortable, I was sure, in any room they used, and 
hoped I would give them no unnecessary trouble. Mrs. 
Bardiston looked pleased. 

“ Very nice of you, my dear Miss Glenn,” she said in a 
confidential sort of tone, “ I am sure you will only be a 
delightful addition to our home circle.” 

I could not help feeling a trifle flattered, as it was very 
evident she thought me older than my years, and I fancy 
most girls of fifteen would enjoy such a misapprehension, 
and remain silent, as I did, beaming my approval upon my 
; kindly, anxious little hostess, who now rose, as though with 
a sudden idea, and began removing the objects from the 
i table as Cecily’s footsteps and the jingle of cups and sau- 
cers were heard without. 

“We generally have supper about eight o’clock,” said 
Mrs. Bardiston, as she began to pour the tea, Cecily in 
I silence guiding her to the necessary articles, “ but to-night, 

: as 1 thought you would like a little stroll about the town, it 
j will be at six — and this, you see,” handing me my cup, “ is 
: literally only a cup of tea — but you will have an hour for 
! rest before supper-time. Now, Cecily, as Miss Glenn 


36 MV MOTHER'S ENEMY, j 

won’t take a second cup, suppose you show her to her- 
room.” 

I followed Cecily up a pretty little staircase to a corri- ; 
dor and the front room, whose chintz hangings I had seen. | 
They formed the chief effect of furnishing in the room, which,] 
was as bare as possible, cleanly but uncarpeted, and having] 
only the merest necessaries. A small bed, a chest of draw-) 
ers, washing-stand and little dressing-table hung with^ 
chintz, as were the windows, completed the objects in the^ 
room, and perhaps my sense of its chilly bareness was thor-jj 
oughly shown, for Cecily suddenly put my bag on a chair ; 
and turned sharply. 

“I suppose it isn’t nice enough,” she exclaimed. ‘‘ There, ;1 
I told mother so ! Especially one of Miss Bayard’s rela-'^ 
tions ! ” \ 

I laughed — yet I felt confused. ? 

“ O, indeed it is nice,” I exclaimed warmly and taking 
hold of the girl’s hand. “ And I am not — ” I was about to' 
say “ not one of Miss Bayard’s relations,” yet how did I 
know ? It was certainly very awkward and confusing to^ 
stand there pressing Cecily’s hand all the harder because I 
did not know what to say — scarcely, indeed, if the truth" 
were told, who I was ! 1 

“ You see,” said Cecily, sitting down unexpectedly o^ 
the edge of my bed, and evidently glad to talk, “ we are ‘ 
poor, and we know it, and the pupils don’t mind : but whe^ 
Mr. Vail telegraphed and asked mamma if she could take T, 
young lady from America to board— why, I was frightened! 
Americans are so -hard to suit, so rich — ” 


My MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


37 


I burst out laughing. 

“Oh, Miss — ” 

“Cecily,” she interposed, laughing too. “You needn't 
say Miss Bardiston ; of course the pupils do, but that’s 
because they wouldn’t respect me otherwise.” 

“ Well, then, Cecily, and my name’s Helen, you know ; 
we’re not rich people at all, my mother and I. We’re — 
well, not exactly poor, but mother teaches in a school at 
home, and now she has only gone to Russia to chaperone 
two of the scholars. That’s how I happened to come 
here.” 

Cecily’s dark eyes brightened. 

“ Well, I declare, I’m glad,” she said, with much good 
humor. “ I was inclined to dread you. Now you’re just 
in time to make ready for supper. And then we’ll go for 
a walk. We can take Cuthbert, so we won’t be afraid if it 
gets a bit late.” 

“ And who is Cuthbert ? ” I asked, beginning to brush my 
hair at the little chintz-covered mirror. 

“ O, my brother. He’s only a boy, but he’s very good- 
natured. He is working so hard for a scholarship.” 

Cecily departed in much better spirits, and I decided I 
should like her. At all events she was a girl near my own 
age, and even a difference in nationality can not prevent 
very young people from feeling sympathetic. I began to 
like various things about me ; the view from my windows, 
for instance. As I brushed my hair I could see the little 
green across whose well-trodden pathways people were 
coming and going in the spring twilight. Some quaint 


38 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


houses dotted the roadway beyond, and a smithy door 
wide open showed its ruddy fire, while the faint click 
of the anvil smote the air every now and then with a cheer- 
ful note. 

Six o’clock brought Cecily back to my door, and I was. 
ready enough for supper, whether it proved hot or cold, but 
some savory odors reached us as we neared the dining- 
room. To reach this room we passed through the family ^ 
parlor of which Mrs. Bardiston had spoken, and, shabby asL 
it was, there were home-like touches which made it inviting. J 
The motherly looking work-table in one window, the- , 
writing-desk and small stand littered with papers, and the . 
old fashioned book-shelves and capacious sofa — all of thesej, 
ancient belongings had an air of fitness and proprietary’! 
right unknown to the more vivid decorations of the little 
drawing-room, and I was entirely sincere in telling Cecily, 
or “ Sissy,” as they seemed to call her, that I thought it a . 
“ dear old room.” J 

Around the supper table the rest of the family were” 
assembled. A tall boy with a clever, plain face and sandy ^ 
hair, and two small girls of about ten and twelve years, were;! 
formally introduced as the ‘‘ Miss Goodwins.” The boy I i 
rightly guessed to be Cuthbert — and the Miss Goodwinsjj 
were the pupils ; but all three were too shy to talk muchj| 
and Sissy relapsed into her former dejected silence, as soon] 
as we were at the table, Mrs. Bardiston, however, chatting | 
amiably. There was a cold leg of mutton, a salad of some 
sort, and an apple tart, the latter partaken of only by the 
Miss Goodwins and myself, although Mrs. Bardiston , 


MV MOTHER'S EHEMV. 


39 


made a show of genially offering it to Cuthbert and Sissy, 
before she remarked she “ rarely touched sweets herself ; ” 
and I felt a little miserable about having taken any, I must 
confess, and glad when the meal was at an end, and Sissy 
promptly suggested we should start for our walk. All of 
the young people prepared to go, and as we were starting 
Mrs. Bardiston called after us : 

“ You had better take Miss Glenn around by Little Brit- 
ton House, Sissy,” and Sissy explained that “ Miss Bayard 
lived at Britton House. 

Miss Bayard ! I felt quite thrilled by this piece of infor- 
mation, but my ideas of the haughty looking beauty in the 
green riding habit were on a scale which the term “ Little ” 
somewhat dashed. 

“ Why is it called Little V' \ asked, as we started to cross 
the Green. Sissy was occupied in settling one of the Miss 
Goodwins’ frock, and when this was accomplished and the 
young person admonished to “ walk straight and hold her 
head up ” she returned to my side and said, somewhat 
indifferently, 

“ Oh, I don’t know exactly. Do you, Cuth ? ” 

“ Because of the Manor up at Torberry being called 
Britton^ I suppose,” was his ready answer. “ But then I 
like Miss Bayard’s home best.” 

“ Has she always lived here ? ” I inquired, feeling this at 
least was a subject on which I could afford to satisfy my 
curiosity. 

“ No — although I believe she did live here as a girl. But 
then her uncle had the place. It is only three years since 


40 


MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


She came for good. I don’t exactly remember where she 
lived just before that.” 

“ Near Hilford, wasn’t it ? ” suggested Cuthbert. 

It flashed across my mind that perhaps it was in the house 
mother visited that eventful day long ago. It was hard to 
hold my tongue, hard not to dash into the conversation, 
asking questions and gaining information, but I was re- 
strained, remembering my mother’s reticence. 

Sissy continued: 

“ Miss Bayard came here when old Mr. Ford was dying, 
and then she stayed right on. She owns the largest of the 
mills, you know, and she takes a great interest in the work- 
ing-people. Here, Miss Glenn, this is the High Street.” 
We had turned up a long irregular street lined with shops 
showing their closed doorways in the summer dusk. “ And 
now up this way we’ll come to Little Britton.” 

We passed the business street and went up one of quieter 
purpose, where the houses were set apart and all of an 
enduring kind. Brick-walled gardens gave an air of seclu- 
tion if not actual aristocracy to most of these. In the faint 
dusk we could sometimes hear voices laughing and talking 
on the other side of these august inclosures, and Sissy, who 
knew where every one lived, gave me names of the occu- 
pants, and now and then paused a moment, as the voices 
floated over the walls, with a regretful sigh and a wistful 
glance out of her dark eyes. Poor Sissy ! She was a very 
impatient Peri at the gates of Britton-Marsh paradise ! — 
otherwise, the society of young people in the town who con- 
sidered her not their equal. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 4i 

A longer brick wall, richly hung with a dark pur- 
pling vine, odors like jasmine, I think, the rich bloom of an 
almond-tree showing against the evening sky — these were 
my first impressions of the place I was destined to know 
later so well — to love so dearly. Then as we young people 
strode along, laughing nnd talking. Little Britton House 
came in view, disappointing me at first in that it possessed 
no grandeur ; little to suggest its being the home of the 
sparkling girl in the gay riding habit whose picture I could 
remember line for line. But in another moment 1 felt an 
irresistible charm about the solid brick mansion whose door- 
way opened on the road. It was an imposing if very quiet 
place. The three tiers of windows looked as though they 
might belong to spacious chambers, and beyond the garden 
wall to the left we could see an angle or L of the house 
ivy-hung, and with a gracious bow window, on the second 
story, overlooking the bloom and verdure of the garden 
itself. 

“ There,’' cried Sissy, in a soft whisper, “ that is Miss 
Bayard’s house. Oh, if you could only see it inside ! But, 
of course, you will.” 

Would I ? I stood still with the others, tremulous with a 
queer kind of excitement as I caught Sissy’s hand in mine 
and looked up at the rows of windows within which lights 
were not yet gleaming. It possessed all the charm of mys- 
tery and romance for me. Something seemed brooding 
over the dusky gardens that drew me toward them. The 
evening star was shining above the almond-tree and the 
widespreading cedars. The sky was softly clear — a sum- 


42 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


mer sky in which the lamps of heaven were beginning to 
throb and burn. Had my mother ever been here ? Could 
this have been perhaps one of her homes when she was a 
girl like me ? I felt very oddly, I must say, as having gazed 
at the old house in deep silence for a moment or two, we 
turned to go back, and Sissy began talking even more 
volubly of Miss Bayard herself. 


She has heaps and heaps of money,” Sissy was saying 


in her sweet high voice, “ but she is very quiet, people say. ^ 
If I was in her place, I would dress magnificently every 
day and give grand parties, and fill the house with company. 
Oh, it must be perfectly delightful not to care what you 'i| 
spend ! ” 

And Sissy sighed, probably with a reflection that six-’^^ 
pences, or even pence, were as valuable at Albert Villa as 
bank notes in Little Britton House. 

“Does she dress very simply?” I inquired, feeling J 
interested in the smallest details connected with myj 


heroine. 

fB 

“ Oh, her clothes are fine enough, I suppose,” said Sissy, i 
with a slight curl in her lip ; “that is, they are always rich| 
material, but so plain.” « 

“ But she is very beautiful, of course,” I insisted. ; 

Sissy turned a critical, contemplative gaze up to the sky 
while she decided this important question. Then, looking j 
at me with a most judicial air, she said, 

“ H’m — yes, I believe she is considered so. Mother re 
members the time when she was the beauty of the county, 
but of course she’s old now. Why,” added Sissy, with the 




MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


43 


feeling of fifteen, “ I should think she must be every day 
of thirty-eight or forty.” 

I agreed with her in considering this decidedly old, but 
at the same time I could not feel that Miss Bayard was less 
a heroine of romance for the fact. The spirited pose of the 
picture in Miss Vail's scrap book was still present to my 
mind and I could not realize that time had been allowed to 
do its work with the beautiful original. 

The Miss Goodwins, who were still somewhat ahead of 
us, had fallen into a dispute about something, and, forget- 
ing Sissy’s martial air, they allowed their voices to rise, 
finally separated in a spirit of defiance, and insisted upon 
each having a side of the road to themselves. Upon this. 
Miss Bayard and her magnificent possibilities were for- 
gotten ; Sissy swept, down upon the children and, taking 
the youngest by the hand, led her up to me, saying, “ Now, 
Hilda, you’ll just take Miss Glenn’s hand, if you please, and 
behave yourself,” clasping in her own the hand of Muriel, 
the older girl. Unfortunate as was the cause, it proved to 
be the beginning of quite a friendship between little Hilda 
Goodwin and myself. She was soon reconciled to walking 
at my side, and when I gave her little hand a soft pressure 
she looked up at me, smiling in such a wistful way that I 
seemed to understand the sort of comfort the poor little 
creature needed. Not that I would have it for an instant 
appear that the Bardistons were anything but kind to their 
pupils. But the fact was, as I soon discovered, everything 
connected with the house or school was an anxious finan- 
cial care, and Sissy, naturally of a sweet, energetic tempera- 


44 


MY MOTHER’S ENEmV. 


ment, had been made irritable by the strain put upon hei* 
young shoulders at the very time when she needed what 
was bright and happy in life. 

The dusk of the spring evening had closed entirely by 
the time we re-crossed the common. The blacksmith’s 
forge was darkened, but ruddy beams of light shone within 
his cottage windows, and I begged of Sissy to pause long 
enough for a glance at the cheerful interior. She looked 
at me, intensely surprised that any thing so common-place, 
should be of interest ; but the picture of a bright kitchen 
where a happy looking family were assembled, the black- 
smith reading a daily paper on one side of the table, his 
wife and daughter busy over some patch-work opposite, the ^ 
cosy fireside with a wooden settle, a kettle swinging, and a I 
cat comfortably asleep in the glow, all made up a picture 
which fascinated me, having that homely charm which in 
English households affects Americans so keenly. Doubt- ; 
less the blacksmith had been born and bred in the little 
stone cottage I was gazing upon, and his children’s 
children half a century hence might be living there ! The 
sense of permanence in family tradition had always stirred 
me curiously, but my mother used to say it was the only 
evidence of my English parentage, for at heart I was the 
most down-right and loyal of young Americans ! 

“ Well, I can’t imagine,” said Sissy laughing, as we took 
the footpath leading to Albert Villa ; “ what you can see in 
the Burges’ kitchen to interest you in this way.” 

I offered no explanation, because I knew nothing that I 
could say on the subject would be intelligible to her ; but 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


45 


we chatted pleasantly on other topics ; and when I was in my 
own room for the night Sissy appeared to let me know, she 
said, that her room was close to mine. 

“Suppose you just come and see where it is,” she 
whispered, holding her candle high above her head as she 
stood just outside my doorway ; “ then if any thing happens 
you’ll know where to come.” 

We crossed the hall, entered a good sized room, uncar- 
peted, with the merest flaps of curtain, and furnished with 
bare necessaries. A double bed at the further end revealed 
the curly heads of the Miss Goodwins as they lay there 
sound asleep. A cot which Sissy occupied was nearer the 
door. Small carpet mats were placed in front of the beds 
and the two washing stands, but a reformatory could scarcely 
have presented a more chilling exterior, and by contrast my 
little chintz-hung bedroom looked very homelike, and I fell 
asleep wondering why the Bardistons tried to keep a school 
on such meager resources. But then, as Miss Vail had said, 
Mrs. Bardiston’s father had very “ genteel ideas,” and 1 
suppose she would have considered any [other means of 
livelihood beneath her dignity as the captain’s daughter. 


CHAPTER VI. 


MARKETING. 


E were breakfasting the next morning about eight 



VV o’clock, when a double knock sounded on the front 
door ; the Goodwins started to their feet, glancing at Sissy, 
who said, in a rather stately voice : 

“ Hilda to-day.” 

And the little girl flew to take the letters from the post- 
man, Mrs. Bardiston explaining that the children took turns 
in answering the postman’s knock, their good behavior 
while dressing deciding which it should be. I expected 
something from my mother, and could scarcely wait until 
the little girl returned; and her beaming face as she came 
towards me showed that I should not be disappointed. 
But besides mother’s long, affectionate epistle was another 
letter, addressed in an unknown hand, the envelope crested, 
and emitting a delicate odor of perfume when I opened it. 

An exclamation from Sissy, as she glanced at the crest, i 
was followed by the announcement, “ From Miss Bayard, I 
declare ! ” and so it proved to be ! i 

I read it, scarcely taking in its meaning, it seemed so « 
extraordinary an answer to all my conjectures of the even- 1 
ing before; for, in a few friendly lines. Miss Bayard said ^ 
that Mr. Vail had called the day before at Little Britton ; 
House and left word that I was with the Bardistons. “ 1 1 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


47 


am obliged to go over to Exeter for the day,” wrote Miss 
Bayard, in a fine old-fashioned hand, “ but will try to see 
you, my dear child, on my return. Your mother was once 
one of my dearest friends,” and the welcome note was 
signed, Affectionately your friend, 

A. H. Bayard.” 

“ Well, upon my word ! ” cried Sissy, “ let me see. She 
will take the train for Exeter — then — ” she made a rapid 
mental calculation, her glowing eyes fixed upon me, “ you 
may expect her this evening.” 

It certainly gave a stimulus to all the events of the day, 
although they had an interest in themselves; for, after a little 
talk with Mrs. Bardiston, it was decided that I should be 
treated “ exactly like one of the family,” which I never 
shall forget caused Cuthbert to say in a quizzical undertone 
that he pitied me if that was to be the case;” but the first 
result was my assisting in the bed-making, with Sissy, 
after which, while the Miss Goodwins had their “ morning 
class,” with Mrs. Bardiston, a large bell being rung to 
summon them to the dining-room for the purpose, we set 
forth on a marketing expedition. Cuthbert had already 
departed for school. 

It was a delicious morning. All the tenderness of the 
spring-time, in this land of green and blossom, was in the 
air, and Sissy declared that if there was time we should go 
to the Deanery woods for wild flowers that afternoon. ‘‘ It 
will help to brighten up the drawing-room for Miss 
Bayard’s visit,” she explained, “and besides it will be fun 
for us as well,” an opinion I heartily concurred in. Mean- 


48 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


while, however, the practical household details were decid- 
edly interesting. Sissy had a little basket on her arm, and 
a small list of necessary purchases written down, the 
butcher’s, baker’s, and grocer’s books lying at the bottom of 
the basket, so many reminders. Sissy said with a sniff, of the 
fact that there would soon be three “ horrid accounts to 
settle.” 

We turned down the quaint old High Street of Britton- 
Marsh, through which I had driven in the gloaming of 
yesterday, but which in the soft sunshine of the morning 
revealed many new elements, and I saw clearly the Town 
Cross, the market place and jumble of quaint old shops , 
whose upper stories belonged to a period when solid stone 
work was the first consideration, and whose projecting 
windows, tiny casements, and low-ceiled interiors were 
doubtless more picturesque than comfortable. Our first 
..visit was to the butcher’s, and here I was amused by Sissy’s I 
careful discrimination in the question of quantity and 
quality for her money. She knew exactly what to buy, ' 
and held an animated discussion with Mr. Sprinks, who 
wanted to induce her to buy a “ round roast ” when she I 
had decided in favor of the rib. Mrs. Sprinks, as cashier,r! 
was seated in a sort of little box at the end of the shop, - 
with a window in it whence she eyed us rather disparag- .. 
ingly, and took Sissy’s book between two greasy fingers, | 
entering the amount of the purchase, and inquiring whether j 
“ Mrs. Bardiston wouldn’t kindly manage to pay something i 
in a day or two,” to which Sissy answered calmly that she 
would report the request to her mother. 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


49 


The grocer was next visited, with various small results, 
after which we went up a hilly side street, pausing before a 
funny little shop built on to a tiny cottage, and where a 
variety of fresh-looking green vegetables were displayed. 
On entering, a boy, who was sorting potatoes from bags on 
the floor, informed us, with a pull of his forelock of sandy 
hair and a little bob of a courtesy, that “ Missus were out in 
the garden,” and Sissy led the way through the shop and a 
tidy little parlor in the rear, into the prettiest kitchen 
garden I have ever seen, where, among currant bushes and 
lettuce beds, a,n enormous good-natured-looking woman was 
at work. She turned a broad, smiling countenance upon us, 
and waited for Sissy to speak. We wanted some fresh 
vegetables, and these Mrs. Meggs chose carefully, asking 
after Mrs. Bardiston’s health; and, when the purchase was 
concluded, adding something nice from one of her glass 
frames, saying, “ Perhaps Miss Sissy's ma would like it for 
a relish,” and as we returned to the street Sissy remarked 
with a sigh, that ‘‘ she wished all the Britton-Marsh. 
trades-people were as kind hearted as Mrs. Meggs, but,” 
she continued, with a desperate air of doing every body 
justice, “ I suppose it is only natural they should expect 
their money. It’s all very well for people like Miss Bayard, 
and Sir Peter, and the old Lady Dowling, to let their 
accounts run for a year — not that I suppose Miss Bayard 
would do it — but there’s some security with people of that 
sort, whereas, of course, they know just how we are situated. 
Here’s the dairy woman’s,” she said suddenly, as we turned 
down a bit of lane running from High Street. “ This is 


50 


M y ^0 THER ’ 5 EN EM Y. 


the last place we have to go to.” The lane was very mud- 
dy, and bordered on either side by cottages of a poor de- 
scription, which seemed to be overflowing with children, and 
in one of which a cobbler was at work, in another a tailor, 
who sat cross-legged on a large table in his front window; 
but beyond these was the entrance to a sort of small farm- 
yard, on either side of which were cottages, the one consti- 
tuting the dairy part of the establishment, and the other 
the residence of Mrs. Burge, the dairy-woman,who, as Sissy^ 
explained, was married to the blacksmith’s brother. No 
one was to be seen in the dairy or milk-room when we 
entered. Rows of shining tins hung upon the walls, send - 
some filled with milk were standing on shelves below, while 
baskets of fresh eggs were near by, and through an open 
door I caught a glimpse of a second room where a bright 
fire was glowing and upon which pans full of milk were, 
scalding, preparatory to the manufacture. Sissy explained, 
of the famous “ Devonshire cream.” Finding no one here, 
we crossed the yard. Sissy opening the cottage door with- 
out ceremony and calling from the foot of the stairs, “ Mrs. 
Burge ! ” and then “ Jane Ann,” in answer to which a very 
pretty, blooming-looking girl appeared above, hastening 
down, explaining that her mother had just stepped out fora 
moment. I thought, as we retraced our steps to the dairy, 
that Jane Ann was one of the prettiest girls I had ever 
seen, but later experience in the Devonshire country proved 
her blooming type, blue eyes and golden hair, to be very 
usual among the poorest even of her class, and in Jane 
Ann’s case a certain heaviness of expression prevented her 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. . 51 

beauty from being as attractive as its perfection of coloring 
would warrant. 

“ Oh yes,” said Sissy carelessly, in answer to my expres- 
sions of admiration when we were once more in the High 
Street. “ I suppose Jane Ann Burge is a pretty kind of 
girl, but you see so many like her, and she is so stupid. 
However, they say she is to be married to a very nice young 
farmer near Exeter, and she understands the dairy business 
thoroughly; ” and Sissy expatiated upon various elements in 
the life of the Britton-Marsh trades-people, evincing an 
interest in them which might have made her aristocratic 
grandfather shudder, could he have listened to some of her 
remarks. 

We returned 'to deposit our purchases in the'^ kitchen, 
after which Sissy took the Goodwins in hand for a music 
lesson, while I found a place in the sitting-room for my 
Writing-desk, and time for a letter to my mother, in which 
I mentioned having seen Little Britton House and received 
a letter from its mistress. 

I was conscious at the one o’clock dinner, which, Mrs. 
Bardiston explained, was eaten at that “ barbarous hour ” 
on account of the children, of the same effort and self-denial 
on the part of the family which had made supper last night 
decidedly uncomfortable for me, and after thinking the 
matter over some time in my mind, trying to determine 
what mother would do under the circumstances, I decided 
to be as frank with Mrs. Bardiston on this subject as I had 
been about making myself useful earlier in the day. She 
w^s alone in the sitting-room, a huge basket of mending 


52 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


piled up on the table before her, while Sissy was occupied 

in some mysterious way in the drawing-room. I stood for 

some time in the window, in silence, trying to frame appro- 

priate and sufficiently delicate sentences in which to show 

her that I did not desire any luxuries at the table such as f 

it was evident were introduced on my account. But finally ^ 

it seemed best to plunge at once into the subject, and to my| 

surprise Mrs. Bardiston took it most genially. § 

“ You seem so sensible, my love,” she said in a confidential | 

tone and laying down her work, “ that I am sure we shall all 

get on admirably. You see the expenses of the school^:, 

this year have been enormous. I may say efiormous^' she f 

<1 

added, glancing around the sitting-room as though toj^ 
indicate some signs of this lavish expenditure, “ and conse-3 
quently we are obliged to economize wherever we can. In | 
order to keep up my connection I have to entertain visi-^, 
tors from time to time and appear as prosperous as possi-J 
ble ; for, singular to say ” — Mrs. Bardiston spoke with the 
most deliberate enunciation, as though each word were to 
be polished off — “ nothing succeeds like success.” I could’’ 
not help a passing reflection as to the amount of success 
which the Miss Goodwins as her only pupils indicated, but 
of course I said nothing, and she continued : “ My poor papa^ 
always trained us to be most particular about appearances.|f 
I well remember the time when my sister Maria and I were 
never able to appear in company at the same time because 
we had to share one muslin frock between us, varied some^ 
what by different colored ribbons, but, although I possesse( 
a good cashmere gown at the time, and cashmeres werf 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


53 


certainly worn by the nicest people, papa would never per- 
mit us to appear in the evening in any thing but white 
muslin, such as the Miss Dowlings and other county ladies 
wore in company, assuring us that these details might mean 
our settlement in life. Poor Maria would, no doubt, have 
married well had she lived, for every one admired her 
figure, and her fine color, and she looked particularly well 
in muslin. But to return to the subject we were discussing. 
I feel that, as you pay thirty shillings a week, you ought to 
have every household comfort.” 

I eagerly assured her that I had the very simplest tastes, 
and it would really be a source of pain to me if my being 
with them was any great increase of expense ; and evi- 
dently to Mrs. Bardiston’s relief, certainly to my own, the 
conversation ended in her agreeing to make no difference 
for me whatever, but I felt positively abashed by her ex- 
pressions of gratitude and appreciation of this “ very con- 
siderate behavior on my part.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE DEANERY WOODLAND. 


HERE proved to be time for a walk to the Deanery 



A woods, and shall I soon forget my first ramble in what 
seemed tame a veritable Arcadia ! We all set out, Cuth- 
bert, the little girls, with Sissy and myself, about three 
o’clock, each provided with baskets for the flowers we 
were sure to find, and my spirits rose with every step, so 
that by the time we had left the High Street and turned 
down a broad lane leading to the lower gateway of the 
woods I felt like some bird newly freed from its cage,, eveiy 
thing within me exulting in the sweetness of the air, the 
fairness of the sky, and spring green and blossom of the land- 
scape. Sissy explained that there was no Dean at Britton- 
Marsh, but the fine, rambling old house to which the woods 
belonged had been known for generations as the Deanery^ 
for what reason it was impossible to tell, while, in spite of 
various attempts on the part of old Lady Dowling, who 
resided there, to prevent it, the public still had a right of 
way, granted a century before, through not alone the wood- 
land but the park. 

“ She tried to put a stop to it,” said Cuthbert, “ about 
five years ago, Dan Burge told me, but there was no end of 
a row in the town about it, so she had to give way.” 

I was very thankful this was the case when, passing 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


55 


through a little gate, we took a footpath which led us into 
the cool depths of the most beautiful woodland, fairly 
carpeted with the wild flowers which from early spring till 
late autumn make Devonshire a land of blooming delight. 
And, like many English girls. Sissy Bardiston was well 
versed in flower knowledge — I can scarcely call it a scien- 
tific acquirement — for she had studied very little on the 
subject, but she knew more of the life of these woodland 
blossoms than any one I had ever met anci cared for them 
as I did myself, tenderly, lovingly, as though they were 
living things, so that on this as on many a future occasion 
the time flew by sympathetically and to me full of instruc- 
tion as well as charm. With what delight did I greet my 
first glimpse of a primrose bank, the pale yellow blossoms 
like stars among their deep furry leaves, and I would have 
filled my basket with them but for the fact that violets, 
wood anemones, and the tender little celandine claimed 
some of my attention. Trailing vines full of delicate 
blossoms were found, and the last of the March daffodils, 
while ferns, already green and thriving, were in profusion, so 
that the question was not what we could find but how much 
of all this wood and blossom we could carry home. Our 
baskets laden to their utmost capacity. Sissy said we had 
better walk home by way of the Deanery, so that I might 
see the old house even from a distance ; therefore we left 
the woods by their upper entrance, striking a footpath 
across a bit of meadow, and thence into a road which 
skirted the small park and luxurious gardens of Lady 
Dowling's home. At a certain bend we paused, and 


56 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


through the pale green foliage on a lawn I could see very 
clearly a rambling mansion of brick and stone, with a 
rather somber though imposing facade, and with one tur- 
reted wing in which Hilda Goodwin whispered to me was 
“ the ghost chamber,” while Cuthbert pointed out that a 
certain yew walk to the right of the old Plesaunce was 
where the ghost was said to walk at stated periods in the 
year. A blood-curdling tale was outlined to me as we 
strolled on, but Sissy said she had never heard all the 
details. Tradition said that a former Lady of the Deanery ^ 
had given evidence to some of Cromwell’s soldiers which 
betrayed the king, and in despair and remorse she had 
drowned herself in the pond beyond the yew walk, her 
spirit appearing from time to time during the same season 
of the year in which she had betrayed her king. Sissy 
enjoyed relating this story in an impressive voice, and I M 
would have been greatly interested and anxious to pursue 
the subject but for the fact that little Hilda’s hand was 
trembling in mine, and I whispered to Sissy that we had 
better talk of something else, whereupon she good- 
naturedly rushed into the question of what time Miss'^J 
Bayard would choose for her visit. 

It proved rather later than we had expected. The draw-^ 
ing-room, which Sissy had arranged in the most “ elegant ” | 
manner possible, was fi;irther decorated with our flowers, tea ^ 
had been long over, and we were all seated in the little par-^ 
lor, an anxious air of expectancy pervading the whole party 
for more than an hour, when suddenly there came down the 
road which we could see from the side window a fine car- 


MV MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


57 


riage drawn by white horses and with liveried servants. A 
rat-tat on the door was followed by Sissy’s darting into the 
kitchen and producing the little maid who had been miser- 
able in her best cap for a long time, and who now hastened 
to the door with the air of importance due the occasion. A 
breathless pause ensued, followed by the return of the maid 
with a card on a small salver. It was for me. Miss Bayard 
was in the drawing-room. Feeling myself quite as excited 
as the Bardistons, and with a sense that I might be in a con- 
fused dream, I made my way down the hall and into the 
drawing-room, where Miss Bayard was standing in the half 
lights of the evening. 


CHAPTER VIII. * 

j 

\ 

MY HEROINE. -j 

H OW is it we gain first impressions of things or people \ 
which later become permanent associations in our 
minds ? The causes seem in the first place so trifling ^ 
that I have often wondered, as I look back over events in ■ 
my girlhood, just what made them so fixed in my mind. I 
Going into the drawing-room that May evening I was j 
as swiftly and definitely impressed by the lady whose } 
face and figure were only half revealed in the shadows of I 
the room as though I had seen her by clear noonday with 
time for a close and definite inspection. A tall, graceful ^ 
figure, a pair of quiet eyes out of which all the fires of youth 
— if there had been any — must have died away, brown hair j 
tinged with gray and smoothed back from a placid brow — 
must I confess it ? much to my disappointment I realized 
at once that this lady, this Miss Bayard, was not at all the 
beautiful young creature of the scrap-book in Hilford, but 
decidedly an “ old maid,” beautiful, certainly, but with a 
middle-aged loveliness which I was too young at first to 
appreciate, seeing it, especially, as I did for the first time ' 
when my head was full of fancies about the imperious ; 
beauty in the riding-habit of scarlet and green. ^ 

Miss Bayard was standing with her face turned toward C 
the door, and even before the little maid had contrived to I 





•f 


t f 









't* 


f 

I 





t 









i'C 







Miss drew me toward the little sofa. 








MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


59 


light the lamp I saw that she was smiling pleasantly, and she 
moved forward, holding out her delicately gloved hand. 

“ I am so glad to see you, my dear,” she said in a low, 
very quiet, but sweet voice. She held my hands in hers, 
drew me nearer to the lamplight, and gazed down at my face 
with the very kindest, although keenest scrutiny. “ I knew 
your mother so well,” she added, without loosening her hands 
from mine, and then continued with some abstraction in her 
tone : “ I loved her very dearly ! Do you think, Helen, she 
will come here ? ” 

Miss Bayard drew me towards the sofa, where I sat beside 
her, my .heart beating fast between a desire to make friends 
at once with this lady, and yet not knowing in the least 
what mother would wish me to do or say. But something 
in Miss Bayard’s face, its perfect sincerity — a certain nobil- 
ity of expression which was its greatest charm — made it easy 
for me to go on without much embarrassment. 

“ I don’t think mother will come here,” I answered, speak- 
ing earnestly. “ I don’t know just why it is. Miss Bayard, 
but she does not care to talk about old times in England, 
or to see people, I think. She has told me very little of her 
home. I think something very painful must have happened 
when she was young.” 

“ You are right,” said Miss Bayard, quietly. There was 
a pause, and then she said, smiling in a way which I thought 
made her eyes much sweeter than those in the picture, 
“ but I hope, Helen — perhaps — we may be able to make her 
forget all that was sorrowful in the past, or,” she added in 
a lower tone forgive it. However, my dear, I can not think 


6o 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


she would object to your knowing me.” She smiled a little 
curiously. I suppose it struck her as odd that the great 
lady of Britton-Marsh should have to ask as a favor that 1 
should visit her ! But she went on directly. “ Mr. Vail 
seemed to think there could be no possible harm in your 
visiting me — and I will write your mother at once.” 

I am sure a glad light must have leaped into my eyes. 
The prospect seemed so delightful. 

“ I wrote to-day,” I explained, “ and told her about see- 
ing your house when we walked out last evening and also 
that you had written me. In her letter to-day she said she 
might stay a little while longer than she expected in Russia, 
to see something of St. Petersburg, if I wrote her that I was 
contented.” 

Very good,” said Miss Bayard, “ I suppose you will soon 
have an answer, and meanwhile, as I am going away for a 
time to Paris, will you spend to-morrow with me for a nice 
long day ? I will undertake to explain it to your mother.” 

My answer may well be imagined. Miss Bayard’s taking 
the responsibility out of my hands made it easy enough for 
me to be at rest in the matter, and I only reg'retted that she 
could not stay longer now, I felt as though I had so much 
to say to her and to hear; but there was the happiness in pros- 
pectof the “ long day,” and when a moment later, she rose, say- 
ing that she must hurry home, I felt almost as though she must 
have been known to me before, so sympathetic, although 
quiet, was her manner — nothing of the grande dame in it so 
far as assumption went, yet much in the exquisite refinement 
and simplicity of what was her perfectly good breeding. 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


6i 


I walked with her to the little gate, before which the pon- 
derous old-fashioned looking carriage with liveried servants 
was standing ; saw the last of her as she drove away, and 
turned back to meet Mrs. Bardiston and Sissy, both of 
whom were full of inquiries as to what the great lady had 
said about my going to Little Britton House. They were 
evidently relieved when I told them that I was only invited 
to spend the day. 

“ I was afraid,” said Mrs. Bardiston, “that we were going 
to lose you at once. Sissy, are the children in bed ? Then 
call Cuthbert, that we may have supper at once.” 

Supper at Albert Villa on this occasion consisted only of 
cold meat, bread and cheese, served on a tray in the dining- 
room, not over-daintily it is true, and yet I often look back . 
to those eight o’clock meals with the Bardistons, remember- 
ing how keen an appetite I brought to them and how satis- 
factory they always seemed. During the progress of sup- 
per on this eventful evening, Mrs. Bardiston discoursed on 
various points of recollection suggested by Miss Bayard’s 
visit, and I gained an impression that she was comparatively 
little known to the Britton-Marsh townspeople, having spent 
most of her girlhood in Surrey, only coming down here on 
rare occasions, and having literally no relations, since her 
uncle’s death, in the neighborhood. All this was interest- 
ing enough in spite of its being interspersed with various 
anecdotes relating to the Captain and “ Maria,” or Mr. B — , 
as his widow always called the late Mr. Bardiston ; but I 
longed for a tete-a-Ute chat, girl-fashion, with Sissy in my own 
room, and was thankful when prayers were over, and the 


62 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 

little Goodwins comfortably in their bed, she came into my 
room for a cosy talk. 

I verily believe Sissy was more excited than I, over Miss 
Bayard’s visit. She curled herself up on the foot of my 
bed, her eyes sparkling with interest, and her thin young 
face showing the most alert animation, while she held forth 
as to the possibilities and the probabilities which would 
result from this acquaintance. 

“ I never heard of Miss Bayard’s taking up any body be- 
fore,” said Sissy, who was watching me, her chin resting on 
her hands against the foot-board. “ Now,, suppose she 
should just adopt you, and -make you her heiress? They 
say she has very few relations.” 

I burst out laughing. The idea of any body’s adopting 
me — with mother alive ! 

“I would not be adopted by the queen,” I answered. 
“ Why, Sissy, you don’t know how much mother and I are 
to each other. I am very glad to know Miss Bayard, but I 
would never speak to her again if I thought it would take 
me away from mother.” 

Sissy simply stared. But after a moment she said, 
reflecting : 

“ Well, I am fond of mother, too, but I do believe if my 
godmother in Wales were to ask permission to adopt me 
we would both of us think it too good a chance to lose.,; 
But there ! My godmother would as soon think of flying 
in the air as adopting any body, although she has promised 
me a legacy.” 

“And such a thing would never occur to Miss Bayard,” 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 63 

I said decidedly. “ But, oh, Sissy, I do think it is really 
romantic.” 

I stopped short suddenly, finding myself on the verge of 
a remark as to my mother’s former acquaintance with Miss 
Bayard, but Sissy was decidedly too engrossed in specula- 
tions of another character to observe my hesitation. 

“ She has a fine house, I believe, in London,” Sissy said 
presently. “ Mary Andrews, the doctor’s daughter, was there 
once when she went to town with her father, but Miss 
Bayard is rarely in it. I am sure I wonder how she passes 
her time.” 

A long time after this I used to think, with a smile, of 
Sissy’s remark and my own conjecture on the same subject; 
foiJ, unversed as we were in the ways of the world, or I might 
say of life, it did not occur to us that a rich, independent 
woman who made so little external demonstration as Miss 
Bayard had any particular object in her daily life. How 
much a few years taught me ! 

I might laugh at or with Sissy’s imaginative fancies, but 
the same sort of spirit, although it took a different form, 
certainly animated me. And when the young girl had said 
good-night, and I found myself alone, lying awake in the 
darkness of my little room, I could not help indulging in 
speculations which were no doubt as foolish as Sissy’s, if 
they were not quite so mercenary. I had no scruples about 
visiting Miss Bayard, and I had decided to write old Miss 
Vail immediately, and also to give mother a detailed 
account of my visit to Little Britton House as soon as it 
was over. So, planning and thinking for the all-eventful 


64 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY 


morrow, I fell asleep, losing myself in dreams wherein 
unimportant trifles of the day were prominent and I awoke 
to find a flood of sunshine in my room and the breakfast 
bell ringing. 


CHAPTER IX. 


LITTLE BRITTON HOUSE. 

S issy was waiting for me in the dining-room, with an air 
of dignified importance. She held a letter in her hands, 
a dainty little note on the pink paper then in vogue, and as 
soon as she gave it to me I saw that it came from Miss 
Bayard. It ran as follows: 

“ I will send the carriage for you, dear Helen, at half- 
past nine, which I suppose will not be too early. Please 
say to Mrs. Bardiston that I will see you safely home by 
eight o’clock. A. H. B.” 

Sissy watched me with an admiring sort of fondness while 
I read the letter, and she waited on me at breakfast with 
the same manner, helping me to every thing, as though I 
were a person of remarkable importance, giving Muriel 
Goodwin a little tap on the back when she asked me to 
help her to some more porridge, and attending to this 
merely practical detail with an air which plainly showed 
that she considered it beneath my dignity to do any thing 
but attend to my own repast. Dear Sissy ! I have no doubt 
it was a fortunate thing that she was capable of indulging 
ill a little harmless romance of the kind, for her life at this 
period of my friendship with her was in many ways a singu- 
larly trying one, and if she could obtain any happiness from 
idealizing my position I rejoice that she did so. 


66 


M V MO THER ’ ENEM V. 


To pin the attention of the Goodwins to their lessons 
when Miss Bayard’s fine carriage and liveried servants 
were expected would have required more than Mrs. Bardis- 
ton’s authority; and, indeed, when the moment came my 
departure was witnessed by the entire household, even 
Susan the maid lingering in an upper window to observe the 
state in which I drove away, while I felt not a little excited 
and decidedly elated by the prospect of the day at Little 
Britton House in the company of the remarkable Miss 
Bayard. 

In less than ten minutes the carriage had paused before 
Miss Bayard’s door; the very ceremonious footman assisted 
me to alight, and knocked with a sharp rat-tat-tat, while I 
felt my heart beating with anticipation and delight. 

I was admitted by a bright-faced maid-servant into a 
hall, spacious and fine in some of its appointments, yet 
having a homelike air. There were engravings on the 
walls, huge pots of blue china, filled with feathers, peacock- 
plumes, and the like, while the staircase of darkly polished 
oak had two comfortable little landings before it curved to 
the second floor. Either side of this sociable hall- way 
were heavy oaken doors, one of which opened almost as 
quickly as I entered, and Miss Bayard herself appeared. 
She greeted me most affectionately, and led the way up to 
the drawing-room, which opened from the second little 
landing, and which was, I saw at once, the room in the L 
with a fine, curving bow-window overlooking the garden. 

I can scarcely do justice to the charm of that room, which 
had much that was very stately in it and much that was cosy 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


67 


and home-like, yet all harmonious and complete. Near the 
bow window low book-shelves skirted one side of the wall, 
above which two or three old portraits were hanging. There 
i was a deep window-bench cushioned in dark red silk with a 
j flowered pattern upon it, two easy-chairs, Miss Bayard’s 
I writing table, a work-stand, and low revolving book-case, 

! besides a capacious lounge placed against the wall near 
I enough to the window for one to look out on the old-fash- 
) ioned glories of the garden, the great cedar, the apple and 
I peach trees now laden with blossoms. The further end of 
the room contained many beautiful objects, richly inlaid 
1 cabinets, pictures of priceless value, and furniture antique in 
Pdesign, solid and stately looking, but it was evident that 
: Miss Bayard preferred the bow-windowed side of the room, 
[I'to which she led me at once, ringing for a servant to take 
r [j my wraps up stairs. 

! ' An hour flew by, all too swiftly, in the most delightful con- 

; versation. Miss Bayard grew interested in every detail of our 
: ^American life, and I might have talked on indefinitely but 
: for the arrival of a messenger from the Deanery which 
^ obliged Miss Bayard to leave me a little while, but she pro- 
; vided very interesting occupation. Sending the servant for 
• ‘‘ Mrs. Buckstone,” she explained that this was her former 
1 maid, now her housekeeper, and, as she had known my 
I : mother, she would be only too delighted to take me for a 
f 1 chat to her own special sanctum, “ where I have no doubt,” 
. I said Miss Bayard, smiling, “ Martha will keep you well 

1 ; enough amused.” 

I The door opened upon a stout, elderly woman with the 


68 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


mo^t good-natured sort of countenance, and who looked at 
me with affectionate interest while Miss Bayard said : 

“ Martha, this is Miss Helen Glenn, Miss Ada Marsh’s 
daughter, you know, and I am sure she will not mind my 
asking her to excuse me for an hour, because it will be so 
pleasant for her to go to your room for a while.” 

Mrs. Buckstone, or Martha, as I soon came to call her, 
smiled broadly, saying ; 

“ Dear me, dear me, just to think of Miss Ada’s daughter 
being with us,” and with a very kindly look in her blue eyes 
she led the way down stairs and to a comfortable room just 
under the drawing-room, which she said that Miss Bayard 
was good enough to let her appropriate to her own use. It 
was very evident that Martha’s own personality was im- 
pressed upon the room. The walls were decorated with a 
variety of objects, pictures, some of which must have been 
cut from illustrated papers, but which were neatly framed, 
portraits of the Royal Family, the Queen, and a group of her 
then youthful children, some naval heroes, a group of little 
silhouettes in black ebony frames, brackets with a queer col- 
lection of objects on them, but with all of which I was des- 
tined later to make an intimate acquaintance. These gave 
the very walls of the room a fascination which captivated 
me at once, while the furniture was of the most inviting sort, 
from the very large, square table, with its gay cover, work 
baskets, books, and odds and ends, to the chintz-covered 
easy-chairs and sofa, and the recessed window like the one 
above, which was pleasantly occupied by a second table, near 
which were comfortable chairs. The fireplace contained 




I 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


69 


one of the high, old-fashioned grates with a place either side 
on which to rest the tea-things or the hot-water kettle, and 
above it was a chimney-piece ornamented by a variety of 
objects, among which were the china figures of a shepherd 
and shepherdess and some of the prickly looking china dogs 
which belonged to Martha’s childhood. 

“ We^re in great hopes that you can come here for a visit, 
my dear,” said Martha, when she had seen that I was com- 
fortably ensconced in the window. “ Miss Bayard’s going 
to write to your mother, she tells me, at once about it.” 

“ Oh, how delightful ! ” I exclaimed, and, I added a little 
timidly, “ Martha, did you know my mother ? ” 

Martha looked at me curiously. “ Yes, incked. Miss 
Helen, I knew her well.” 

But she spoke with the manner of one who, however much 
there may be to say, prefers silence, and I, of course, felt that 
it would not be obeying my mother’s wishes to ask any ques- 
tions. Martha had taken up her sewing, and in the silence 
which followed my gaze drifted out across the garden and 
a side roadway which skirted the low hedgerow of an adjoin- 
ing place. Set in the midst of what looked like a neglected 
park was a house painted dark red and white, in a curious 
fashion, and with a galleried wing like pictures I had seen 
of old Italian palaces or villas. It was a fine place but 
singularly deserted, and I turned back to ask Martha who 
lived there. She followed the direction of my glance, and 
then said that she believed it had been a long time empty. 

“ I have never seen it occupied since we were here,” said 
Martha. “ I believe it belongs to some great estate ; but the 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


young lady of the family died there suddenly — can you see 
where two windows in the gallery are barred up? — and so 
the people moved away.” 

I fancied there was a slight constraint in her way of 
giving these fragmentary details, but the house interested 
me curiously, probably from its air of solitary grandeur 
in the midst of so much neglect and almost decay. “ The 
White House,” Martha said it was called, because of its 
light color, and she did not doubt but that it was very fine 
inside. 

I speedily discovered that Martha Buckstone told the 
most interesting sort of stories, for, roving about the room, 
and asking her various questions connected with the objects 
I encountered, I found that she had a tale to tell about 
nearly all of them. For instance, when I lifted from its 
place on a little side bracket a large work-box with a pic- 
ture of St. Paul’s on the lid, Martha said at once : 

“ O, that is Miss Bayard’s famous work-box. I must tell 
you the story of that, my dear,” and forthwith related a tale 
which I need not repeat here, as I shall have occasion 
later to repeat it. But it was a captivating little romance, I 
thought, and presently Martha opened the box and pro- 
duced some other treasures, all of which had their historic 
association. One of these was a strip of brocade, lavender 
ground, with pale yellow flowers upon it. This fragment 
of silk, taken carefully out of a tissue-paper wrapper, was 
displayed to me, while Martha Buckstone described Miss 
Bayard’s appearance in a dress of which this was a sample, 
at a certain foreign festivity. Next came a curl of brown 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


n 


hair which had been cut from Miss Bayard’s head one night 
when she iay ill of a fever, and because of which it seemed 
to have acquired a special value in Martha’s eyes, and al- 
though she called it “ golden brown ” I must say I never 
saw any glimmer of gold about it, but it had no less a charm 
for me as belonging to the same romantic past in which 
Miss Bayard wore the brocaded ground and did her hair in 
curls. 

We chatted pleasantly for at least an hour, during which 
I not only listened to Martha’s anecdotes, but told her a 
great deal about America, in which she had a cousin living, 
though exactly where she was not certain, when a little bell 
sounded which Martha said was a summons for me to Miss 
Bayard’s presence again. 

She had finished writing her letters when I returned to 
the drawing-room, and said at once that as she hoped soon 
to have me for a visitor in the house she wanted to make 
me feel at home directly. “ So, my dear, I went on with 
my day’s routine as usual.” 

A number of letters were lying on the little davenport, and 
when Miss Bayard asked me whether' I would not like to 
stamp them for her I saw that many were addressed to 
charitable institutions, and, as I learned later, found that 
Miss Bayard’s large wealth was treated by herself as a trust 
for others. I could not help smiling to myself thinking of 
Sissy Bardiston’s speculation concerning what the “great 
lady ” did with her money, and Miss Bayard must have 
caught the smile, for she said, glancing up from her needle- 
work : 


72 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY . 


“ What are you thinking about, my dear ? ” 

And I answered frankly, 

“ I was thinking of something Sissy and I were talking 
about the other night. We came down here to look at 
your house and Sissy said — ” 

I broke off suddenly, feeling the color flame into my 
cheeks. Miss Bayard was regarding me intently. 

“ Sissy said what, my dear?” she smiled indulgently and 
took my hand in both of hers. 

There was nothing for it but to go on, so I said hur- 
riedly, 

“ She wondered how you spent your money, and so did 
I.” I added this hastily from a sense of honor, but feel- 
ing very much ashamed, so that it was a relief when Miss 
Bayard laughed brightly. 

“ I suppose Sissy would have liked me to do something 
very splendid once in a while,” she said, the correctness of 
her conjecture making me blush furiously again. “ But, my 
dear, when you and Sissy Bardiston are ten years older 
you will find that there are useful ways to spend an income 
ten times as large as mine. But tell me,” she added sud- 
denly, breaking off from this subject, “ how are the Bardis- 
tons getting on ? You must not think me anxious to meddle 
in my neighbors’ affairs, but I want very much to know how 
the Bardistons are doing. Do you think they are prosper- 
ing or really very poor ? ” 

I plunged at once boldly into a narrative of what I con- 
sidered the Bardistons’ real position, well knowing that 
Miss Bayard could have no motive but a kindly one for!. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 73 

asking me such questions. When I had finished my hostess 
said in a sympathetic tone of voice : 

“ You see Mrs. Bardiston is not one to whom I could 
speak frankly on the subject. She has that kind of pride 
which makes it seem preferable to appear as well off as her 
neighbors ; but there are the children to be thought of.” 

Dinner interrupted this pleasant talk. Miss Bayard 
dined early, “ from force of habit,” she said, and as we sat 
down to the well-appointed table explained that for many 
years she had lived with an old uncle, a great recluse, who 
preferred a midday meal. “ I hope you will find, my 
dear, that we have very cosy suppers, if you come to stay 
with me,” she added pleasantly. My heart gave a bound of 
fresh delight at the prospect — if only mother would not 
forbid it ! 

After dinner we drove out, and to my great delight went 
on business to the Deanery, entering by the main gate, 
and up an avenue which led straight to the grand old 
house, with its picturesque doorway. The interior was 
in keeping with what I fancied a manor house of the 
olden time would be. We were ushered into a lofty draw- 
ing-room, lighted by many windows and magnificently 
furnished, and where a very old, and I must say very ill 
tempered looking, little lady was seated in a deep easy 
chair, while a sweet-faced young girl, dressed in deep black, 
sat near by reading aloud. 

The young girl, whom I knew later to be Lady Dow- 
ling’s companion, rose when we were announced and glided 
from the room, while Lady Dowling, after greeting Miss 


74 


MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


Bayard as pleasantly as any one with an habitual frown 
and a gruff voice could do, extended to me two bony 
fingers, giving a little grunt, which I suppose was meant for 
“ How do you do ? ” 

After a few commonplace remarks were exchanged Miss 
Bayard said that she had come herself, although on business, 
to inquire whether Lady Dowling had any of her houses 
at Britton Bay vacant. This suggestion animated the old 
lady in a surprising fashion, and a rapid talk ensued, to 
which I paid very little attention, although fragments 
reached me which showed that Miss Bayard was ready to 
negotiate for one of the houses in question. Lady Dowling 
declaring that her terms were “ ridiculously low,’' but Miss 
Bayard’s security, etc., etc. She evidently desired to flat- 
ter Miss Bayard, but her good humor produced no effect 
upon that lady beyond bringing a sort of amused smile to 
her lips, and she rose, agreeing to come to some decision 
in the matter as soon as possible. 

No explanation of my parentage or my being in Britton- 
Marsh had been given ; but when we were again in the car- 
riage Miss Bayard said in her most cordial tone : 

“ I thought, Helen, your mother would prefer my making 
no special introduction here of you. I can not discuss her 
reasons for shrinking from old ties, but I feel sure that 
she will do wisely in allowing you to make me a visit. I 
will be back from Paris in six weeks, about the time I judge 
she would be thinking of leaving Russia. I will write her 
then an urgent letter, and you can add a few lines if you 
will yourself.” 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


75 


My answer may well be imagined, but recalling my con- 
versation of yesterday with poor Mrs. Bardiston I felt a 
pang of regret at the withdrawal of the thirty shillings a 
week which she had assured me was a perfect ** God-send ” 
in their house-keeping. However, it was still all a chance, 
and when about half past seven o’clock, after a delicious tea 
which fully justified my expectations, Martha Buckstone 
accompanied me to Albert Villa I had a queer, half-homesick 
sensation, fearing that the delightful visit might never come 
to pass. 

Mrs. Bardiston insisted upon Martha’s coming in and 
sitting down in the little parlor, and her usual dignity van- 
ished, giving way to the most sociable and friendly manner 
while they chatted about various matters in the town, 
and, as I learned later, when Sissy and I went off to my 
room, Mrs. Bardiston became very communicative and told 
her visitor many of the trials in her daily life. 

Sissy’s frame of mind was as excited and interested in the 
events of my day at Little Britton House as I could desire, 
and I gave a graphic account of every thing, answering her 
most minute inquiries and sending her off to bed more firmly 
than ever of that opinion — which seemed just as preposter- 
ous to me as it had the night before — that Miss Bayard cer- 
tainly meant to “ adopt me.’* 


CHAPTER X. 


ALBERT VILLA. 

M y daily life at Albert Villa was soon settled into as 
much of routine as could be said to- exist in a house- 
hold where there was a perpetual sense of effort and the 
sort of irregularity when there are “ appearances,” to be 
constantly maintained, and to which the actual comfort of 
the family was frequently sacrificed. The only pupils 
during my stay there were the little Goodwins, whose 
parents were in India, and it used sometimes to seem to me 
that it would have been so much better had Sissy and her 
mother been willing to openly acknowledge to their friends 
at Britton-Marsh that they did not do certain things 
because they could not afford them, and give up this painful 
striving after “ effect,” which in reality produced, I used to 
feel, only a painful impression upon lookers-on. We dined 
at uncomfortable hours, and in a fragmentary* sort of way, 
so that all traces of the meal should be out of sight before 
there was a chance of the people or, as Mrs. Bardiston 
called them, the “ patrons,” who were likely to call of an 
afternoon, to inquire about the school. Afternoon tea was 
likewise eaten in a hurry, and apt to be taken in odd places, 
while it was fortunate that the slight chill in the air had 
disappeared, since there seemed no chance of a fire any- 
where except in the little drawing-room. Cuthbert worked 


AfV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


77 


early and late, doing all sorts of errands for his mother 
and the household generally, and yet contriving to study 
for a scholarship at which he was aiming; and I used to be 
heartily sorry for the lad who, at an important period of his 
life, was ill-fed, ill-clothed, and decidedly overworked. 
After the first week or two I discovered that I could be of 
great assistance to him, in going over some of his lessons, 
my mother, who had a passion for classical study, having 
grounded me sufficiently in Latin to make me capable of 
being of some service to Cuthbert ; we contrived to get a 
great deal of pleasure out of the enthusiasm for Latin, 
which we shared, and gradually it came to be an understood 
thing that, for an hour every evening, we had one end of 
the sitting-room table to ourselves and our books. Cuthbert 
working himself into what Sissy laughingly called quite a 
“ fine frenzy” over the ^neid, which we were reading, while 
I was glad enough to keep up something in the way of 
study. Sissy accepted all the discomforts of the house- 
hold with a kind of sad resignation, but grumbling often in 
a general way at the hardness of her lot. She seemed, how- 
ever, to think that there was no better outlook than the 
misty prospect for “ pupils,” somewhere in the future, while 
ail her efforts to keep the weekly accounts down did not 
avert constant trouble with the tradespeople whom she 
visited regularly, day after day, I accompanying her often, 
there being a tacit sort of understanding between us that 
by so doing I saved poor Sissy some of the hard speeches 
they made her when she was alone. I did not like to add 
to her unhappiness by confessing the dread I used to feel 


8o 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


“demand” an increase of household expenditure of any 
kind. 

Above and beyond all, during this time, when I shared 
the household anxieties of the Bardistons, I had the pros- 
pect of my visit to Miss Bayard’s illumining whatever was 
cheerless at Albert Villa, and in answer to inquiries written 
me by Miss Bayard I had given her an account of Mrs. 
Bardiston’s troubles, telling her of Cuthbert’s talents and 
industry, and of Sissy’s hard work for the household gener- 
ally, adding that I felt very certain things must come to a 
crisis soon, for I knew that nearly every thing I paid had 
gone to making up arrears in rent, and the tradespeople 
were growing more uncivil every day. 

Four weeks had gone by of the time mentioned by Miss 
Bayard for her visit to Paris, when one morning Sissy came 
to my room while I was making my bed to ask that I ac- 
company her on her marketing expedition. 

“To tell you the truth,” said the poor girl, whose eyelids 
were red from recent weeping, “ I don’t dare to face Mrs. 
Sprinks alone. Oh, if mother would only consent to giving 
up the idea of a school ! ” J 

Although my heart sank at the prospect of visiting Mrs.* 
Sprinks in her present frame of mind, I could not desert j 
poor Sissy, and we set forth carrying the little basket as usual, 
but our worst fears were realized ! 

“ It can’t be done. Miss Bardiston,” said Mr. Sprinks, 
with a peculiarly unamiable and sarcastic expression, when 
Sissy modestly demanded some beef for stewing. Mean- 
while Mrs. Sprinks’ eye was glittering upon us. “ I can’t 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


8i 


give credit forever on what I might call no security at all. 
I know just how your ma’s placed, and I guess most of the 
tradesmen about do the same.” 

And Sprinks, muttering something about intending to call 
“ on the lady that afternoon,” turned away, while we left the 
shop in an agony of mind. I forget just how we made out 
for dinner that day, but I know the meal was partaken of 
. in an awful kind of silence, Mrs. Bardiston starting at the 
L' sound of the knocker and Sissy turning deathly white when 
the little maid came in, whispering, that “ Mr. Sprinks was 

I 

in the sitting-room.” 

f We all three exchanged glances, and then with a great 

1 effort Mrs. Bardiston arose and left the room. Cuthbert 
thrust his hands into his pockets and walked over to the 
window. Muriel Goodwin, who knew only in a general way 
that things were going wrong, began audibly to cry, and, sin- 
gular to say. Sissy did not attempt to check her, but sat lean- 
ing her cheek on her hand, and gazing at me with her dark 
[ eyes full of misery. What seemed an interminable time to us 
^ elapsed before Mrs. Bardiston returned, looking very pale 
; and agitated. In a few words she whispered to Sissy and 
. myself that “ Mr. Sprinks meant to do the worst if his bill 
was not paid in a week’s time,” and the poor lady added 
; “ that she supposed they would all descend upon her now 
that it had begun.” 

It was raining in a dismal sort of fashion that afternoon, 
a mournful kind of drizzle, persistent, although thin and 
;vapory, but I had taken a sudden determination to go up 
to Little Britton House and find out frorn Martha Buck- 


82 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Stone just when Miss Bayard might be expected home. I 
knew my way perfectly, having now more then once walked 
past there, especially when I was feeling homesick or de- 
pressed ; and, making no particular excuse to any body, I 
put on my waterproof and old hat and hastened out of the 
house. I had a vague idea that Miss Bayard’s return might 
mean something for poor Mrs. Bardiston and her family ; 
at all events her presence or her counsel would be some- 
thing, and I walked rapidly, feeling my spirits rise as I 
neared the well known garden wall with its richly laden 
boughs bending above and the drawing-room bow-window, 
whose curtains, to my surprise, I saw were drawn back, the 
outline of a figure not unlike Miss Bayard’s visible within 
it. My heart bounded with delight when, on being admitted, 
Priscilla, the maid, informed me that Miss Bayard had 
returned quite unexpectedly that morning. A moment 
later and I was in the the drawing-room, half crying and 
laughing together, as she welcomed me with affectionate 
cordiality. 


CHAPTER XI. 


MISS BAYARD TO THE RESCUE. 

M artha was summoned to take away my wet cloak 
and hat, and a delicious cup of tea brought to the 
table in the window, after which I talked fast and eagerly, 
and to my delight found that one of Miss Bayard’s chief 
reasons for hastening home had been my letter describing 
the Bardistons’ position. 

“ Do you remember, Helen,” she said, in her interested 
sympathetic way, “ the day we went to the Deanery, and I 
talked to old Lady Dowling about a house of hers over at 
Britton Bay ? I had a plan started in my mind then for 
assisting the Bardistons to a different kind of living. I 
would not attempt to help her in a school, for I felt certain, 
as I told her two years ago, she could not succeed in it. I 
knew that there would always be just the sort of striving after 
effect which you see has been the case ; but, if she will con- 
sent to take this house I speak of, on the terms I can offer, 
I will do every thing in my power to set them afloat once 
more. I have always been interested in them, and I 
believe in Cuthbert’s talent. Dr. Fordley, the head-master 
of the grammar school, is exceedingly interested in the 
boy, and I’m sure both he and Sissy ought to have a 
chance, but they never can have it while they are all living 
so far beyond their means,” 


84 


J/y MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Miss Bayard’s plan was to induce Mrs. Bardiston to take 
the house, to which a very nice Berlin wool shop was 
attached, keep up the business, and rent out all but such 
rooms as she actually required, to lodgers who were always 
easily found at Britton Bay. 

“ It can be managed very readily, I think,” said Miss 
Bayard when, half an hour later, we were driving to the 
Deanery to make final arrangements with Lady Dowling, 

“ for Lady Dowling I am sure would be willing to reserve 
one room for her own use, as she constantly goes over to 
the Bay and this would lessen the rent at once. A cousin 
of Mrs. Wedmore’s has been keeping the shop and doing 
well at it, and as she is going north will be very glad, I 
am sure, to sell out the fixtures and good will at a moder- 
ate price.” 

Delighted and interested as I was, and pleased to be 
again going to the grand old mansion whose splendors had 
often recurred to my mind, I could hardly wait for the 
time of my return to Albert Villa with such important 
news. However, the visit proved very absorbing and 
amusing. Lady Dowling liked nothing better than laying 
plans whereby she could save money, so that she went into 
minute details with Miss Bayard, finally agreeing to let 
the house and adjoining shop for one hundred and fifty 
pounds a year, forty of which were to be deducted if she 
could have a certain room in the third story reserved ex- 
clusively for her own or any friend’s use. “ Of course 
with gas, fire, and attendance included, my dear,” her ladyi 
ship explained, “ the weeks the room would not be occupied 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


85 


would make it pay her handsomely ; ” and, Miss Bayard 
agreeing to act as security if Mrs. Bardiston accepted the 
terms, we departed to drive to Albert Villa where, having 
ushered Miss Bayard into the little drawing-room, I flew to 
summon Mrs. Bardiston and Sissy. 

The frame of mind in which Sissy and I remained, in 
the twilight of the little sitting-room, while her mother and 
Miss Bayard held a long conference, may be imagined. To 
my great satisfaction, I found that Sissy was more than 
ready to accept Miss Bayard’s plan with gratitude and 
delight. Shabby gentility, debts and dunning tradesmen, 
had no charm for her, and she was naturally fond of 
housekeeping and a good manager. Indeed, if such had 
not been the case the household must have long since 
collapsed. Although little more than sixteen, her birth- 
yi day having occurred soon after my arrival at Albert Villa, 
U experience had matured her beyond her years, and she 
was quite capable of managing such a business as Miss 
Bayard proposed with her mother’s protection and 

HI 

assistance. 

We were just thinking of lamp-light when the drawing- 
room door opened and Mrs. Bardiston’s step was heard, 
and a call for Sissy and myself brought us quickly into the 
drawing-room where Miss Bayard was standing in the 
window, and Mrs. Bardiston, flushed and radiant, although 
with some signs of tears about her eyes, poured forth an 
incoherent sort of story, the substance of which, however, 
both Sissy and I already knew. In a few moments Miss 
Bayard had departed after whispering something to me. 


I 


86 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


about “seeing me very soon,” and we three repaired to 
the sitting-room, where Mrs. Bardiston gave us the partic- 
ulars of her conversation with Miss Bayard, while we sat 
about the center table, the lamp-light showing me Sissy's 
face, for the first time since I had known it, radiant and 
happy. 

Miss Bayard must have managed the whole affair with 
great tact, and used her persuasive powers to their best I 
advantage, since Mrs. Bardiston was as enthusiastic over the j 
new plan as I could have desired, and without the slightest 
appearance of pride she announced that “ Miss Bayard was 
good enough to offer a loan which would settle her trades^.' 
men’s accounts, before they moved,” the only show of 
feeling being when the question of keeping the shop was 
under discussion, and Mrs. Bardiston said to me, with a 
touch of her loftiest manner : 

“ You know, my dear, that I was not brought up to any 
thing of the kind, but, as Miss Bayard says, there is such a 
difference in trades, and the Berlin wool has always been 
considered most genteel.” 

“ As Miss Bayard says ” came to be, in the course of the 
next fortnight, a familiar expression, Mrs. Bardiston and 
Sissy pinning their faith, unreservedly, upon their generous 
friend, who certainly contrived to give her benefactions as 
little the air of “ charity ” as possible. Indeed, I have never 
seen another human being who conducted what may truly 
be called her good \yorks on such a perfect system, delicate, | 
and at the same time judicious. 

The next morning brought a package for Mrs. Bardistoo} 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


87 


which she opened with trembling fingers and an expression 
of delight, as three crisp bank notes were produced, Miss 
Bayard thinking that the money would be less embarrassing 
than a check. She had obtained from Mrs. Bardiston a 
general idea of the amount due to Britton-Marsh trades- 
people, and the notes sent were sufficient to cover all 
of this and leave a fair margin for the expenses of 
moving. 

Sissy stipulated that, as she had had to bear the brunt of 
so much trouble in marketing, she was to be permitted the 
pride and triumph of paying the bills, and accordingly we 
sat down with the various pass-books before us, a sheet of 
fresh paper, and newly sharpened pencils, I in a frame of 
mind scarcely less exultant than Sissy’s, for I was really 
fond of the Bardistons, and had been taken so unreservedly 
into their confidence that I took this matter keenly to heart, 
and shared their intense relief of mind and delight in the 
new prospect opened before them. 

When we had summed every thing up Sissy and I dressed 
ourselves, as though for a most important social occasion, 
and sallied forth into the High Street, Sissy declaring that 
she had not realized how miserably she had been feeling 
until this moment, nor how perfectly delightful it must be 
to have no debts. 

“ The worst of it is,” she said, as, linking her arm in mine, 
she turned in the direction of Mr. Sprinks’, “ people seem 
to think when you can’t pay you are willfully dishonest. 
For my part, I can not imagine how ‘people can ever be 


88 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


happy when they are in debt if they have the money to pay 
up with.” 

Sissy’s manner on entering Mr. Sprinks’ shop was really 
beautiful to see. She began with the most affable smile and 
a request for the very finest cut of beef ; when he looked 
dubious she affected not to observe this, but approached 
Mrs. Sprinks’ little window with a careless ease, and hand- 
ing up the pass-book with a ten pound note, graciously 
requested a receipt and the change. Both the butcher and 
his wife were full of obsequious courtesy now, and I am sure 
Sissy enjoyed saying, with the same smiling, affable manner, 
that they would only need “ to be served a few days longer, 
as they had taken a house, or were about to take it, in Brit- 
ton Bay.” 

The same manner characterized each interview that morn* 
ing, with the exception of our visit to the kind-hearted dairy 
woman and the green-grocer. At Mrs. Meggs’, Sissy was 
natural and very communicative, bargaining with the good- 
hearted woman to supply them with vegetables, twice a week, 
over at the Bay, while Mrs. Burge and Jane Ann were like- 
wise taken sufficiently into Sissy’s confidence to have them 
understand that a windfall of good luck, though from what 
source was not told, had come in the Bardistons’ way. 

Certainly no expedition had been fraught with more pleas- 
ure, and we had the delightful prospect, for the next after- 
noon, of a drive to Britton Bay with Martha Buckstone, in 
Miss Bayard’s own carriage, the object being to' inspect the 
new house and the Berlin'' wool shop, and to hear from its 
present owner just what the chances of “ business ” were. 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


89 


Meanwhile, I had promised to go to Little Britton House for 
dinner and an hour’s chat with its mistress, and parted 
from Sissy at the corner of the street which led to the turn- 
pike near which Miss Bayard's home was situated. 


CHAPTER XII. 


M ISS BAYARD was engaged in a business conference ; 

with Lady Dowling, and, feeling myself very much at 
home, I made my way to Martha Buckstone’s parlor, where 
I found her all smiles and welcomes. 

“ You haven’t seen Miss Bayard,” the good woman said, 
as she took my hat and jacket, and laid them carefully 
away. “ Well, she’s just been planning for you to stay with 
us for a few days anyway, while Mrs. Bardiston is doing 
her moving. Come up stairs with me, my dear, and if you 
like I’ll show you the little room near mine we’ve been 
getting to rights for you.” 

I was only too delighted, as may well be imagined, no 
follow Martha up to the second story, where she led the 
way into the daintiest little dimity-hung bower you can fancy, 
every thing within it being what a young girl would like 
and appearing especially homelike to me at this moment, 
wearied as I felt of the domestic confusion which character- 
ized Albert Villa. But what attracted my attention first was 
the fact that I could see plainly from the windows the White 
House, and Martha bade me observe one most interesting 
fact. 

“Some one has just moved in,” she said; “they came / 
yesterday. Do you see it has quite an air of occupation?”^ 


MY MO THER *S ENEM Y. 


91 


I looked — saw the windows fronting the gallery were 
wide open and the shutters flung back in those below. 
Men seemed to be engaged mowing the lawn, while the 
great front door appeared to be open. 

“ Oh, Martha,” I exclaimed, “ who do you suppose has 
come there to live ? Let’s make up a story about them. I 
shall call it my house,” I added laughingly, and turning 
back to find Martha regarding me with something queer in 
her expression. 

“ All right. Miss Helen,” she said hurriedly, ‘‘ we’ll call it 
your house, and then we’ll watch and find out who the 
people in it are.” I could not have said why, but I was 
certainly impressed by an idea that Martha knew more of 
the strange occupants of the White House than she was 
willing to admit, but she turned the subject so decidedly 
that I had nothing to do but conjecture in my own mind as 
to the possibility of my finding elements for a romance in 
the new comers to my house, while there was certainly 
enough that was interesting later in the day to discuss with 
Miss Bayard. At dinner I told her all about our expedition 
of the morning, and how delighted Sissy had been to settle 
their household accounts, after which we went into an in- 
teresting calculation as to what the Bardistons would need 
for their removal, and new establishment, I being very 
much pleased when Miss Bayard said she was “ glad to find 
I had a good little business head on my young shoulders.” 
But I explained to her that mother had always made me 
her confidant and, since I was at all old enough for the 
work, I had been her “ banker and book-keeper.' 


92 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Miss Bayard looked at me with an odd expression, as I 
said this. 

“ Then I suppose,” she said in her gentle way, which pre- 
vented the question from seeming at all intrusive, “ she 
has made you careful and accurate in regard to money 
matters ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” I answered quickly, “ we have to be very par- 
ticular, especially as mother has to lay by something every 
year, for, although I am to teach in the school as soon as I 
am old enough, we can never count on the future too se- 
curely, she says, and you know we have no one in the world 
to do anything for us,” I added, quoting my mother’s oft- 
repeated words when I was inclined to be a trifle extrava- 
gant. Again I caught the same curious expression in Miss 
Bayard’s dark blue eyes. But she smiled quickly, finding 
my gaze so earnestly fixed upon her. 

“ Then your father had no near relations ? ” she 
said. 

“ I have some cousins in Boston,” I answered; “ they are 
very nice indeed, but they are not well off. Their father 
is a physician but, although he has a large practice, there is 
such a family to support. Mother would never think of 
looking to them for any thing, although we are so fond of 
them and they of us.” 

The subject was discussed no further, yet it left me with 
a curious impression that Miss Bayard had some special 
purpose which I could not divine in her remarks. However, 
1 felt the same sense of silence being necessary where my 
mother’s English life was concerned as had governed me 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


93 


in conversations with old Miss Vail, but that night the face 
of her “ enemy ” was curiously mixed in my dreams of 
Martha Buckstone, Lady Dowling, and my Boston cousins, 
an absurd jumble, the result, no doubt, of my conversations 
during *the day. At fifteen, dreams, except in our \yaking 
hours, do not count for much, and the next day was full of 
an absorbing interest, and some excitement, for by one 
o’clock the carriage from Little Britton house arrived, and 
a very happy party set forth to inspect what Mrs. Bardiston 
called “ the property ” at Britton Bay. It was my first long 
drive in that enchanting country, and no later experiences, 
however rich in their variety, have caused those early impres- 
sions of delight in the exquisite diversions of hill and dale, 
flower-bordered road-sides or deep-hearted woodland, to 
lose their intensity. Again I seem to see that fair summer 
landscape, its rich greens and bounteous blossoms merging 
here and there into the grandeur of some stretch of country 
where the tors dominated, or the cliffs, rising abruptly from 
the water’s edge, showed their gray-blue tones boldly in 
the brilliant noon-day sun. Now and again we passed the 
gate-way and lodge of some fine mansion ; once Martha 
bade the coachman stop, that I might gaze up a long straight 
avenue leading to a gloomy looking mansion where Charles 
I. had passed a week and later the Prince of Orange had been 
sumptuously entertained. Through a tiny village almost 
overhanging the sea we drove, I delighted with its cleanly, 
primitive aspect, the cottage, quaint and picturesque, every 
yardway gay with flowers, the shops, smithy, and road-side 
inn all like a picture of rural prosperity, while, in answer to 


94 


MV MO THERMS ENEMY. 


some inquiry from Mrs. Bardiston, Martha said in a very 
impressive tone: 

“Oh, yes— this is all Mallerdean property,” and I 
thought she glanced inquiringly in my direction. But the 
name* was totally unfamiliar to me, and I suppose my face 
expressed this fact, for she added in a less constrained tone, 
“ It all belongs to Sir Henry Paulding.” 

Another mile took us to the scene of Mrs. Bardiston’s 
future home and occupation. I thought tlien, and I think 
now, that Britton Bay was as charming a little watering 
place as I had ever seen. It had all the gayety of a con- 
tinental resort and something of the solidity of the English 
town about it. We drove past the railway station, 
emerging upon a long, wide roadway curving about the 
Bay, which sparkled and danced in the sunlight, and to the 
left of which were terraces with smart-looking little villas 
or small rows of dwelling houses built along them. Beyond 
this we came to the principal street of the town, where in some 
instances the shops were as fine as those of Paris, and there 
was a decided air of fashion and distinction about every 
thing, from the costumes of the people walking up and down 
to the few private houses scattered along it and the gorgeous 
looking hotel at its lower end which commanded a superb 
view of the ocean. The winter was the gayest season here, 
Martha explained, but even now there was an air of joyous 
prosperity. Above the terraces and villas, the business 
street and the hotel gardens, there rose cliffs richly verdant 
at this season and with the brilliant blue of the sky making 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


95 


a charming framework for this picturesque and light- 
hearted looking place. 

Our destination was in a side street not far from the sea 
where the houses were somewhat quainter in architecture 
than those on the terrace above the beach road, and we 
speedily recognized the Berlin wool shop with its comfort- 
able residence, the front door to the house being at one 
side, while the second story or“ drawing-room floor ” above 
the shop had wide and projecting windows, with a tiny 
balcony full* of flower boxes, just in front. The shop 
window presented what Mrs. Bardiston at once pronounced 
“a most genteel and attractive appearance.” It was the 
period of canvas and wool work, of sofa pillows, rugs, and 
crochetted afghans, and a brilliant assortment of patterns 
and samples of the same was displayed, together with a 
variety of small fancy articles, and some stationery. 

The arrival of Miss Bayard’s carriage brought the 
present occupant of the house promptly to the shop door. 
A bright-faced looking woman, who welcomed us all pro- 
fusely, and leading the way with Mrs. Bardiston, whose 
manner was a mixture now of the business woman and 
retired school-mistress, if such a thing can be imagined, 
escorted us into what was certainly a very attractive little 
shop. A comfortable space was carpeted, dividing the two 
counters ; shelves on either side were well laden, and a 
portion of each counter boxed off with glass, containing 
sundry embroidered and worked articles for sale, while the 
lower end of the shop contained a door the upper part of 
which was glass and which on being opened like that at the 


96 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


entrance rang a little bell. Behind this was so cosy a shop- 
parlor that Sissy squeezed my arm, and exclaimed in a 
delighted whisper, “That it was too sweet for any thing.” 
It was a cosy, old-fashioned room large enough for all 
family purposes and having windows which looked out 
very pleasantly upon a garden with fruit trees and clam-; 
bering rose vines against a southern wall. The fireplace 
looked most inviting and was like that in Martha Buck- 
stone’s sitting-room, the very place for cosy tea-drinking, 
but Mrs. Yarnall, our hostess, hastened to say that there 
w*as another sitting-room across the hall, and led the way 
from a side door to the residence part of the establish- 
ment. Here was a narrow hallway, a small front sitting- 
room somewhat more precise and modern-looking than the 
shop parlor, but very neat and comfortable, while opening 
from it was a good-sized pantry with the kitchen in the 
rear. 

“ My drawing-room lodgers are out to-day,” said Mrs. 
Yarnall as she led the way up stairs, “ so we can have a 
look at every thing,” and she opened the door of the room 
with the wide projecting window, displaying it with evident 
pride in its conventional lodging-house “ elegancies.” 
There was the usual center table, horse-hair sofa and sprink- 
ling of easy chairs, a carpet gay in design, carefully looped 
back lace curtains, and the familiar prints of the period on 
the walls, Frith’s “ Derby-Day,” “ The death of Lord 
Nelson,” and a somewhat moldy engraving of the Duke 
of Wellington, while the chimney-piece presented a variety 
of objects not unlike those in Martha Buckstone’s room. 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


97 


Adjoining this was a capacious bedroom with a dressing- 
room beyond, the three comprising what Mrs. Bardiston 
pronounced a most elegant drawing-room suite.” 

Long, long afterwards I recalled the careless curiosity 
of my first visit to that room. How little I guessed what 
circumstances would lead to my next standing within it ! 
Nothing can be called chance in this world. Circum- 
stances seem often to combine in a mysterious way leading 
us to the working out of a providential design, but who 
shall dare to say that chance guides us to the accomplish- 
ment of the Divine Will ? Looking back I can not see, from 
the first link to the last, that my experiences during that 
most eventful year of my life were not all part of God's 
plan for me and mine. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A HAPPY EVENING. 

W E surveyed the rest of the house at our leisure, found 
that with the exception of a small room, which Mrs. 
Bardiston would occupy alone, there were two good-sized 
rooms and one small one, eligible for lodgers, on the third 
floor, while the attic was well finished off and would suffice 
for Sissy, Cuthbert, the little Goodwins, and Susan, the maid, 
there being four rooms in it, which, in spite of a slanting 
roof, were quite comfortable. Cupboards abounded, and 
Mrs. Bardiston declared herself thoroughly satisfied. Then 
we returned to the shop parlor and she decided to remain 
with Mrs. Yarnall for a talk about the “ business,” while 
Martha showed Sissy and myself something of the town. 

Sissy was eager to see where she could do her marketing, 
and we found a number of clean little shops by turning down 
a street near Mrs. Yarnall’s, and then proceeding, zig-zag 
fashion, up a hilly road, where Martha said she thought the 
very nicest sort of purchases might be made. “ Quite as 
good,” said Sissy, whose spirits were at concert pitch, '‘as 
any of the more showy places in the town.” And she re- 
garded the wares displayed in various windows with the air, 
already, of a householder in Britton Bay. 

Mrs. Bardiston was quite as satisfied with her discussion 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY, 


99 


of the business as we had been with the possibilities of the 
town, and it was decided before we left that if they “ came 
to terms ” Mrs. Yarnall was to remain a fortnight and induct 
Mrs. Bardiston and Sissy into the mysteries of the shop, 
while for the present at least the drawing-room floor was 
engaged, so that the only rooms which the Bardistons would 
have to fill with lodgers were two of those on the third floor, 
one of course being reserved for Lady Dowling. 

Our return to Albert Villa was like a triumphal progress, 
so happy were the Bardistons and so entirely did I sympa- 
thize with them in their good luck ! How different the 
whole house seemed to us as we entered it in the soft sum- 
mer twilight ! Sissy almost alarmed me by her graciousness 
to the Goodwins ; Susan was dispatched to Mr. Sprinks for 
chops for tea, and to the baker’s for muffins, Mrs. Bardiston 
feeling that the occasion justified such an extravagance, and 
I may say that from this hour her whole manner changed. 
Having decided to “ go into business,” she allowed her air 
of elegant exclusiveness to fall away and became her natural 
self, which was kind-hearted, genial, and unembarrassed, 
while Sissy, whatever her fondness for romance would lead 
her to desire, seemed to think of nothing so satisfactory as 
this prospect of freedom from what had been the nightmare 
of her life— the failure in the school and the harassment of 
increasing debts. 

We were sitting in the cool dusk of the evening after tea, 
Sissy and I talking, she in eager, low tones confiding to me 
her plans for life at Britton Bay, and I answering with vari- 
ous suggestions and the most heartfelt sympathy, when we 


100 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


saw coming across the Common Miss Bayard’s footman, 
Matthew, and of course our attention was promptly diverted 
to conjecturing his errand. It was a note for me desiring 
to know whether I would make ready for a little visit to 
Miss Bayard beginning on the morrow, and would I ask Mrs. 
Bardiston to come up this evening to Little Britton House 
and consult about “ the property.” 

Mrs. Bardiston of course was only too delighted to go, 
and departed in a state of suppressed excitement, while 
Sissy and I continued our talk for a while, including, by way 
of being very gracious, Cuthbert and the little Goodwins in 
it. Sissy answering the children’s eager inquiries about Brit- 
ton Bay with a sort of majesty in her air which, however, 
did not prevent her giving certain small details. 

“ I am sure,” she remarked at one period of the conver- 
sation, “ mother will thoroughly enjoy being in the shop, for 
she has often said that her happiest days were those she 
spent with an uncle up in London who had a large empo- 
rium of wools and fancy work, and you see mother’s being 
so very ladylike and all that will attract the best class of 
custom to our shop.” ' 

Cuthbert ventured a surmise as to how he was to get to 
school, and was promptly answered by Sissy, who said that 
he could have a monthly ticket in to Britton-Marsh. “ And ^ 
fine days you will enjoy walking one way,” she added. 

I would not let the fact that I had the packing of my little i 
portmanteau to attend to to interfere with the usual Latin i 
reading, but on getting out the books and turning up the 
lamp in the sitting-room I observed that Cuthbert looked ( 


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MV MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


lOl 


very gloomy. He, of all the family, seemed least elated by 
the good fortune which had befallen them. 

“ What’s the matter, Bertie,” I inquired, putting Virgil 
down resolutely. 

“ I’m afraid of this venture,” he announced with a dejec- 
ted manner ; “ mother takes so little interest in my getting 
a scholarship, and I’m afraid that once we are over there I 
will have to make myself,” the lad’s lip curled scornfully, 
“ generally useful.” 

“ But, Cuthbert,” I exclaimed, “ Miss Bayard is specially 
interested in your getting on,” and I hastened to tell the 
boy what she had said of Dr. Fordley’s opinion of him. 
Cuthbert’s whole face glowed. There was no question 
whatever of his intellectual capacity, and I felt certain even 
then that he would reward Miss Bayard’s patronage or con- 
sideration and determined to do all that I could to further 
his interests. The hour sped along ; Sissy had already 
assisted the little Goodwins to bed, and she and I went to 
my own room for another half hour’s chat while I packed 
my bag, Mrs. Bardiston’s return, while this was in progress, 
giving the final accent of success to our day, for she came 
in flushed and radiant to tell us that all was settled. Miss 
Bayard had been “ more than liberal and kind,” and every 
thing was settled, and as soon as possible they were to make 
the move. 

“ Miss Bayard says, dear Miss Helen,” said Mrs. Bardis- 
ton in her most affectionate manner, “ that as soon as we 
have moved in you can come back to us. That is until 
your dear mamma knows her plans.” 


102 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


I was well enough satisfied with this and went to sleep 
that night, happier than I had felt for many a long day, 
while the next morning, bright and early, Martha Buckstone 
arrived to escort me back to Little Britton House, where 
my welcome was all that could be desired, and Miss Bayard 
told me at once that she hoped after a week or so at Brit-j 
ton Bay I could return to her for a much longer visit. 1 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AN ACCIDENT. 

H as it ever happened to any of my readers, I wonder, to 
experience a reaction from many personal discomforts, 
from domestic confusion, and I may say insufficient diet, to 
the very perfection of household content ? If so, such a 
one may know what I enjoyed in finding myself one of Miss 
Bayard’s family, as she called her household, after the 
scrambling, chilly existence of Albert Villa. From the first 
morning — when I awoke to find myself in the sweet-scented 
little bed, Janet, the house-maid, at my side with a cup of 
tea, and Martha’s figure to be seen through the doorway 
leading into the sitting-room — a condition of things which 
warmed and comforted every fiber of me began. The days 
might have seemed monotonous to some people. To me 
they flew by, their very routine having its charm, since it 
was prescribed by my beloved Miss Bayard, and the varia- 
tions being novel enough to me to seem most diverting. 

It was a very quiet household. But every thing about 
Miss Bayard was quiet, or perhaps I had better say peaceful. 
We breakfasted at half-past eight, after which the three 
maids, Matthew, the footman, and Martha assembled in the 
dining-room and Miss Bayard read short prayers. Then I 
was free to take my book or my work to Martha’s room for 


104 MOTHER* S ENEMY. 

two hours while Miss Bayard either saw people on business 
or wrote letters. Sometimes she went to the factory end of 
the town, when I would accompany her. Her visits were 
generally errands of charity, and I had a means of observing 
her delicacy and tact, yet withal her prudence in almsgiving. 
Sometimes Martha and I went for her, to carry medicine or 
some dainty or money to her pensioners. We dined at half- 
past one ; then came our drive, or a walk with Martha — a slight 
lameness in one foot making walking difficult for Miss Bayard. 
Tea at five o'clock was always the “ cosy " meal Miss Bayard 
had promised, and generally brought together some of her 
special friends — sometimes girls of my own age, who viewed 
me as highly privileged — and at eight o’clock there was a 
cold supper which we lingered over. Miss Bayard and I, she 
often sitting with her feet on the fender when the evenings 
were chill enough for a fire, in the cheerful old-fashioned 
dining-room, into which later trooped the servants for 
night prayers, after which sometimes, not very often, but 
on rare occasions, I sat with Miss Bajjrard in her own 
room while Martha Buckstone’s niece, who was in training 
for Miss Bayard’s maid, brushed out my hostess’s long soft 
hair, in which the gray was already plentifully strewn among 
the brown. Little as she ever said of herself or her past 
life, I guessed that the Miss Bayard whom I knew had come 
to this quiet, peaceful outlook on the world in general — this 
systematic way of a life which was chiefly for others — 
through some fiery ordeals ; for patience, she used to say, 
had been learned — her restfulness was the outcome of much 
that had been tumultuous. 


My MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


105 

I had been four days at Little Britton House when, on a 
certain soft May afternoon, I went over to Albert Villa to 
see the last of the Bardistons before their departure for 
Britton Bay. Every thing was in the confusion of moving, 
but Sissy was in radiant spirits ; she had bidden farewell to 
all her trades-people, and a new lodger for the third 
floor had just been secured, which, when I was once 
more with them, would make the house comfortably full. 
I stayed and chatted with Sissy in my old room for 
an hour, and then having arranged to join them at Britton 
Bay within a day or two, departed, walking home by a 
circuitous way around the lanes and down a hilly road from 
which a fine prospect of the sea might “be enjoyed. I was 
standing still, I 'remember, on this breezy height where 
the road took a turn, and wondering whether I could go 
any further, when suddenly the sound of voices attracted 
my attention, and turning quickly I saw just around the 
bend of the road an alarming sight. 

A small pony carriage had been overturned. The horse 
was out of the shafts and standing amiably quiet now, 
whatever he may have been a few moments previous, while 
a tall, countrified youth eyed him with an air of complete 
dejection ; but the perplexing feature was the figure of a 
small and very delicate-looking lad of ten or eleven years of 
age, who, as I judged, had been thrown out — perhaps injured. 
The little carriage must have been coming up from the 
opposite direction, as I had seen nothing of it. I stood still, 
uttering an exclamation of surprise and alarm, while 
the little boy turned an appealing glance in my direction. 


io6 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


“ Oh what can we do ? ” he moaned forth. What can we 
do?” 

I sprang forward and immediately asked the taller lad 
what had happened. He seemed intensely stupid, but 
managed to let me understand that he had been driving the 
little carriage when the horse had bolted, taking fright at 
something on the roadside, the phaeton was overturned 
and, he added, gazing stupidly at the child who was still 
in a crouching attitude, 

“ I’m afraid Maister Charlie be hurted some.” 

“ Hurt ! ” I exclaimed. No doubt he is. Poor child ! ” 

“ Master Charlie ” announced that his ankle pained him. 
He tried to rise, but turned deathly white and fell back 
again. Evidently some decisive steps were necessary, but 
here we were, at least half a mile from town and not a house 
in sight. However, the pony was quiet enough and the 
boy had begun to put him back in the traces. I stooped 
down beside “ Charlie.” 

“ Don’t move, dear,” I exclaimed, gently. Let me try 
to lift you up.” 

The boy turned a pair of dark blue eyes on me and I 
fancied there was a shade of contempt in his expression. 

“ You can’t lift me,” he said, trying to be very manly and 
dignified, but failing miserably, since each movement 
seemed to bring him fresh pain. 

I laughed heartily by way of encouragement. 

“ See here,” I said, and, putting my arms carefully about 
his very slight frame, I lifted him as easily as though he had 
been a baby, and, the elder boy having contrived to get the 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


107 


horse safely harnessed, I deposited my burden on the soft 
cushions of the little seat. But something further had to 
be done. 

“ Where do you come from?” I asked “ Master 
Charlie’s ” brilliant charioteer. 

“ Sir Henry Paulding’s,” was the answer. 

I was no further enlightened by this, but I saw that the 
poor little lad was so weak that there was danger of fainting 
and, asking the boy if he could lead the horse, got beside 
Charlie, whose head drooped onto my shoulder. 

“ Stop at the first house you come to,” I said, imperatively. 
“ He must not go too far. I think there is a cottage at the 
foot of this hill — I know the woman.” For Martha and I 
had been there once or twice to get clotted cream and new- 
laid eggs for Miss Bayard. 

The boy looked thoroughly aroused by this time and 
willing to obey my orders, and with many glances at his 
little master contrived to get us in reasonable time down 
the hill, where we came in view of a pretty cottage owned 
by a widow named Meluish, who was one of Miss Bayard’s 
most faithful “ poor ” friends. 

“ Stop here,” I said, anxiously, and, raising my voice, 
called to Mrs Meluish, who hastened out, glad to be of 
service but decidedly alarmed when she saw Charlie’s deathly 
face on my shoulder. 

“ It’s only a faint,” I explained. “ But his ankle is hurt. 
Can we get him in, do you think, and send word to his 
home?” 

Mrs. Meluish was a strong young woman with a pair of 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


io8 

motherly arms, in which she took my still unconscious bur- 
den tenderly and without disturbing him. She carried him 
through her kitchen to the room beyond, where a tall 
“ four-poster ” bed stood freshly made with a gay counter- 
pane and cleanly pillows. 

“ I am thinking a doctor had best come first,” she whis- 
pered, as she laid the boy carefully down. “ Sir Henry 
Paulding, did you say, miss ? Why he’s the one that’s come 
back to the White House.” 

I could not resist an exclamation of surprise. 

“ Oh then I can easily run there,” I said, “ and tell them, 
while the boy goes for the doctor.” 

“Very good, miss,” said Anne Meluish, approvingly. 
“ The doctor’s easily fetched if he is at home. I’ll tell the 
lad where to find him.” 

I felt full of excitement, you may depend, as I darted 
away, walking at the top of my speed by the shortest cut 
around back of Miss Bayard’s to the gateway of the White 
House — “ my ” house, as Martha and I continued merrily 
to call it. 

The avenue looked very much deserted. As I approached 
the fine entrance of the building I saw signs of animation 
in the house. Repairing and cleaning were evidently going 
on, and when a servant opened the door in answer to my 
somewhat excited knock I saw that the vast hall was filled 
with odd pieces of furniture moved out of the rooms on 
either side, while a tall, angular woman, with her head bound 
up in a silk handkerchief, was giving directions in a high 
voice to two or three servants. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


109 

She turned on seeing me and came forward with a polite 
enough manner, but evident annoyance at being disturbed. 
I briefly explained my errand. 

“ Hurt ! thrown out ! ” she exclaimed, excitedly. “ Oh 
why did I trust him to that stupid Peter ! Where is he ? 
Jackson” — this to the butler — “ order the carriage at once. 
Mr. Charles is hurt ! Quickly ! Oh, thank you so much, my 
dear ; perhaps you won’t mind coming back to show me just 
where he is. Dear me ! ” 

The poor lady was in such evident distress I could not 
think of leaving her, and I knew that Miss Bayard would 
approve of my remaining ; but in the few moments which 
elapsed while the carriage was being brought around and 
she went away to put on her things, I wondered what rela- 
tion she was to little Charles. My ideas of a mother made 
me think the relationship could not be so near and tender, 
but she was so genuinely concerned and unhappy that I felt 
certain at all events that she loved him dearly. 

She came back dispersing directions right and left against 
her return, and all the household impressed me as deeply 
agitated by this accident to the boy, who was, I fancied. Sir 
Henry Paulding’s son. 

When we were seated in the carriage driving toward 
Anne Meluish’s cottage my companion introduced herself. 

“ I haven’t found out who you are yet, my dear,” she 
said, hurriedly, ‘‘ I am Charles’s governess — Nettleship, 
my name is — and I am all the more anxious because his 
uncle. Sir Henry, is away and has left me in entire charge 
of every thing.” 


no 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


I murmured something intended, I suppose, to express 
my sympathy, and Miss or Mrs. Nettleship said little more 
until we reached the cottage, where a young surgeon. Dr. 
Evans, whom I had seen at Miss Bayard’s, was waiting in the 
little kitchen with a face which betrayed at once how serious 
a “ case ” he considered it. 

“ It may be nothing very much, madam,” the doctor said, 
gravely. “ But the child must not be moved to-night ; any 
way, I would not answer for the consequences. His back 
seems to trouble him, and his ankle is broken.” 

Miss Nettleship began to wring her hands. 

“ We’ll make him comfortable, miss,” put in Anne Melu- 
ish, consolingly, “and you, too, if you’ll stay.” 

It had to be done, and Miss Nettleship at once expressed 
her thanks and something complimentary about the cleanli- 
ness of the little cottage. Charlie had returned to full con- 
sciousness, but he seemed in much pain and with difficulty 
had been put into bed. I offered my services again, but 
poor Miss Nettleship, who seemed very unhappy, thanked 
me and asked where I lived. I told her ; she listened in 
some surprise. 

“ I had no idea Miss Bayard lived here,” she exclaimed, 
but explained nothing further. However, she desired me 
to tell Miss Bayard that Matilda Nettleship was at the 
White House, governess to Mr. Charles Germaine, Sir Henry 
Paulding’s nephew. 

The message burned in my brain and seemed ready to 
dance from my lips as I hastened home, glad that there 
seemed a prospect of seeing more of^the poor little boy and 




MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


Ill 


“ my ” house, but wondering, too, how Miss Bayard would 
receive my story. 

She was in what she called the “ garden-window ” of the 
drawing-room, and I fairly flew upstairs, eager to tell my 
news. I shall never forget her face as I gave it. Even in 
the half-lights of the room I saw it pale and flush, and she 
rose trembling to her feet. 

“ Sir Henry Paulding — here ! ” she repeated, and quickly 
added, “Why, this boy, then, must be Barbara’s child.” 

I stood still looking at Miss Bayard, scarcely knowing 
what to say. I appreciated the fact that she was unnerved 
and excited, but knew not what to do or say. 

“ I don’t know,” I said, finally, in a stupid fashion. Miss 
Bayard turned to the window, gazing across the gardens 
and road to where the Florentine-looking house was shin- 
ing in the sunset glow among its trees and gardens. 

“ So near ! ” I heard her half whisper. “ What a strange 

i 

“ life this is, to be sure.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


CHARLIE GERMAINE. 


M ISS BAYARD had a conference with Martha, the 

mediate result being a note to Miss Nettleship at the 


White House, and all of that evening I found it hard to j 
restrain my curiosity as to who these people were, why their ti 
presence in Britton-Marsh was so agitating to my hostess, -Jj 
and whether there would be any reason for my not seeing ^ 
the poor little boy again. 

Miss Bayard and I lingered rather longer than usual in the 
drawing-room, while she made me give her every detail of . 
the accident, but when I ventured to say, “ Have you ever ' 
seen him. Miss Bayard ? ” her answer, “ Only when he was * 
two or three months old,” conveyed no particular infor-^ 
mation, of course — at least satisfied none of my curiosity^ 
“But Sir Henry Paulding — the uncle?” I said, a little'- 
timidly. ^ 

Miss Bayard was leaning back in her own special easy-'"' 
chair, her eyes fixed upon the fire, but at this she flashed a 
sudden look of interrogation or perplexity. 

“ Is it possible — ” she began, looked at me more search 
ingly, and then turned the subject in a way that made it 
impossible for me to ask questions without appearing imper- 
tinent. I stayed with her while her hair was being brushed, 
and, as usual, amused myself turning over the trinkets on a 


M Y MO THER 'S ENEM Y. 1 1 3 

little jewel-stand — a queer collection of odds and ends with 
I here and there the flash of something like a rare gem. But 
Miss Bayard’s special |jewels, of course, were under lock 
and key, and Martha had long promised to ask permission 
to show them' to me. 

Miss Bayard watched me, smiling at my evident satisfac- 
f tion in slipping the rings on my fingers and holding up the 
other ornaments to catch the light. 

“ There are some jewels in my strong box you ought to 
have, Helen,” she said, presently, “ they belonged to your 
grandmother — amethysts. Perhaps I’ll show them to you, 
and you may have them for your sixteenth birthday if you 
are with me.” 

I am sure my eyes danced with delight. 

“ Oh, Miss Bayard,” I exclaimed, “ how enchanting ! I 
shall be sixteen on July 5th. I hardly think I’ll be here 
then.” 

“ We don’t know what may turn up,” said Miss Bayard, 
^promptly. “ I am inclined to think your mother will remain 
some weeks longer with the Hills in Russia. You know in 
her last letter she spoke of the extremely delicate health of 
the younger daughter and how much she disliked leaving 
her, and,” added Miss Bayard, with a smile, “ I think she 
is satisfied now that her little girl is in good hands.” 

I Much that might be new and interesting seemed to me, 
i when I went to bed that night, about to open in my life. 

I Lying still in the darkness of my own room I could, by 
: turning my head very slightly, see the lights twinkling in 
one or two rooms of the White House. Had they contrived. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


1 14 

I wondered, to bring Charlie home ? and, if so, were these 
his rooms ? 

Morning, nowever, brought the answer to these questions. 
On going down to the dining-room I found Miss Bayard 
standing thoughtfully in the window with an open letter in 
her hand. 

“ Helen,” she said, very gravely, and laying her hands 
upon my shoulder — a fashion she often had when saying 
any thing of importance to me — “ I am going to allow you 
to do something entirely on my own responsibility, and you 
must remember that I am obliged in certain instances to 
use my own judgment, as your mother is too far away to be 
consulted about a point which needs prompt decision. 
Here is a letter from Miss Nettleship asking that you may 
spend part of to-day with the poor little boy who can not 
leave Anne Meluish’s cottage perhaps for many days. It 
seems that he has asked for you, and Miss Nettleship and 
the doctor think you might be able to keep him amused and 
quiet. Now, I foresee that this will lead to a friendship with 
strangers, but I am tolerably certain, my love, that you have 
enough character and firmness to — well — to meet any 
emergency that may arise. At all events,” continued Miss 
Bayard, with more rapidity and decision in her tone, “ it 
seems to me that I have no right to prevent your making 
pleasant friends ; I am sure I think no harm can come of it.” 

I felt equally certain that only pleasure could result, and 
I ate my breakfast in quite an exhilarated mood, edger to 
run up to Martha’s room for a few moments’ discussion of 
what seemed to me a very important invitation. 





4 



f 







MV MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


”5 


Martha, I must say, appeared scarcely less excited than 
I was myself, and we had hard times, both of us, getting 
I my things together in the proper order and in making me 
i look really presentable for the occasion. 

I Miss Bayard decided that Martha had better walk with 
me to the cottage, and we set off about ten o’clock, I carry- 
ing a couple of my best-beloved story-books, thinking that 
little Charlie might like me to read aloud. 

It was a relief to find on entering Anne’s kitchen that 
the doctor did not consider young Master Germaine’s 
injuries at all dangerous, but as there seemed a slight tend- 
ency to feverishness he had decided that the little boy would 
be better off, for a day or two at least, in the Meluish cot- 
tage, which was fresh and cleanly and well-ventilated ; a 
servant from the White House had been sent down to relieve 
Anne of all unnecessary care, while Miss Nettleship, after 
j staying the night through with her little charge, had gone 
home for an hour’s rest. 

I “ He’s asked for you, miss, half a dozen times — poor 
little young gentleman ! ” said Anne, sympathetically, while 
she took my hat and jacket. “ He seemed to feel as though 
the very sight of you would do him good.” 

I hastened into the adjoining room, where Charlie was 
propped up in bed, a very pale little person indeed : but 
his eyes brightened at sight of me. 

“ There ! ” he exclaimed, “ I am so glad you came ! I 
told Miss Nettleship she must bring you. Isn’t it horrid to 
think I have to stay here two or three days ? ” 

“ Oh, I think it very nice,” I answered, sitting down in a 


ii6 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


huge chintz easy-chair which was drawn near to the bed. 

Such a dear old cottage and such a pretty room ! Isn’t 
it, Charlie ? ” 

“ H-m, ye-es,” said young Master Germaine, surveying the 
room critically. 

It had the elements common to English cottages of its 
class : windows with swinging latticed panes, corner cup- 
boards set deeply in the wall, and furniture which to-day 
would set many a lady of fashion wild with envy and delight. 
The chest of drawers was of oak, polished and dark with age. 
The claw-footed table on which some of Charlie’s remedies 
were set forth had belonged to Anne’s great-grandmother, 
and the very bed in which Charlie looked such a little mite 
would bring a good prize in these days of antiquarian 
research. 

“ Miss Nettleship will be here directly,” said Charlie, with 
his eyes fixed upon my face, “ and I will tell what you will 
have to do. You must tell her to go away and you will take 
care of me.” 

I had to laugh, for, in spite of what was very evident, 
that Master Germaine was accustomed to have his own way, 
I hardly felt it likely that I should carry such a point with 
the governess. 

“ She’ll go if you tell her to,” said Charlie, with an old- 
fashioned manner that was very funny. “ She hates to be 
bothered, I know. And she’s got the toothache dreadfully. 
I heard her telling the doctor so last night. She’s pretty good, 
and, of course, she’s kind : but she’s such an old fusser. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


117 

Uncle Harry always tells her, though, that she must do 
just what I like.” 

This appeared to me rather an amusing arrangement 
between a pupil, or young charge, certainly not more than 
ten years of age, and a middle-aged governess. 

“ Do you always have your own way? ” I inquired. 

“ Oh, generally,” said Charlie. Uncle Harry always lets 
me have every thing. He’s the goodest — goodest — person 
in the whole world. He says he’s like a father to me. But 
I don’t believe any fathers ever were half as good. Was 
yours ? ” he asked, suddenly. 

“ I never saw my father,” I answered. “ At least I can’t 
remember him, for I was only a tiny little thing when he 
died.” 

^.To my surprise Charlie’s face brightened visibly at this 
rather mournful piece of intelligence. 

“ Why, isn’t that nice ? ” he said, affably. “ It’s just like 
me. My father died when I was a baby ; that’s why my 
Uncle Harry brought me up. Who took care of you ? ” 

I now sketched something of my life in America for 
Charlie’s benefit. He seemed greatly interested, and plied 
me with questions at once about American boys and their 
sports, etc. 

“ When I go to Eton,” he answered, “ I intend to do every 
thing that will make me powerful and strong. My cousin 
Geoff is at Eton, and he is a regular giant — a first-class sort 
of a Hercules, the fifth form call him.” He stopped sud- 
denly with a quiver of distress in his little face. ‘‘ Oh, do you 
suppose I am hurt forever ? ” he inquired. 


MV MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


Ii8 

« Oh, I don’t think it is possible,” I answered, quickly. 
“ Why, the doctor says you can be moved to-morrow or the 
next day, and then we’ll hope you’ll get strong and 
well.” 

“ Miss Nettleship is going to write to Uncle Harry at 
once,” said Charlie. “ He’s at Leghorn, and if it is serious 
at all she says he will come right home. You see, it would 
be a dreadful thing for any thing to happen to my back, 
for I have to be a soldier.” 

He spoke, poor little lad ! as though the defense of the 
kingdom might depend upon him. 

“ There always has been a Charles Germaine in the army,” 
said this little English boy with pride and decision. 
“ If you ever goto Mallerdean you can see Charles Germaine 
of Her Majesty’s Tenth, who was shot at Blenheim, and 
Charles Germaine who was in the Crimea — that was my 
father.” 

“ Where is Mallerdean ? ” 

He looked at me a little queerly for a moment, as though 
I had betrayed some unpardonable ignorance, but he said 
presently in a cheerful voice, 

“ Oh, of course — you are from America and you don’t 
know. Mallerdean is Uncle Harry's largest place. It isn’t 
far from Britton Bay. We are only staying at the White 
House because some repairs are going on at Mallerdean. 
I shouldn’t wonder ” — he lowered his voice to the most con- 
fidential whisper— “ I shouldn’t wonder if Uncle Harry 
were going to be married, although you must not say any 
thing about it, because it’s dreadful— Miss Nettleship 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


119 

says — to spread gossip, and she and I only talk of it as 
gossip.” 

It was the hardest thing possible for me to keep from 
laughing, such a comical mixture was there in the boy of 
shrewd sense and childishness, so quaint and old-fashioned 
was he and yet so irresistibly fascinating. Such a little 
darling ! He had a face which might well have been painted 
and hung upon the wall with other ‘‘ Charles Germaines ” 
who had served their country ; delicate and high-bred and, 
in spite of extreme childishness, full of manly purpose. The 
eyes were darkest blue, clear and searching in their glance; 
the hair, though rather long, waved like a little cavalier’s 
and gave no effeminacy, only added picturesqueness to the 
pretty boyish face. 

I was afraid of overtiring Charlie, and, seeing the car- 
riage from the White House coming down the road, made 
this an excuse to slip out for a moment into the kitchen, 
where presently Miss Nettleship arivedwitha hamper of all 
sorts of delicacies, such as I doubt if the little cottage had 
' ever seen before. 

' She still had the same anxious and fretted expression of the 
I night before, but I learned later that this was habitual, and 
that Charlie's governess was really one of the kindest- 
hearted, most good-humored of women. 

“ Oh, my dear,” she exclaimed, on seeing me, “ I am so 
much obliged to you for coming. I am sure you have kept 
Charlie entertained. Mrs. Meluish, I hope you make Han- 
: nah (the maid who had been staying there since the acci- 
dent) very useful, and now she can get Master Ger- 


120 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


maine’s lunch ready. I brought every thing I could 
think of." 

We very soon had a tempting little tray prepared for the 
invalid, and then Mrs. Meluish and Hannah set out a table 
laden with delicacies for Miss Nettleship and myself ; but 
perhaps the nicest part of it was the fragrant cup of tea 
Anne made at the bright little fire, while the sanded kitchen 
with its bright dresser and perfectly cleanly appointments, 
made as attractive a dining-room as I have ever known. 

Miss Nettleship pressed me to eat all sorts of things ; 
talked about Charlie, about Sir Henry, about Miss Bayard, 
all in a sort of good-humored jumble which I supposed she 
imagined I understood. They had been traveling abroad, 
it appeared, for two or three years, and as soon as Mailer- 
dean was in order she and Charlie were to take up their 
permanent abode there. 

** Sir Henry, I suppose, will always travel more or less," 
said Miss Nettleship. “And, to tell you the truth,"— 
lowering her tone — “ Charlie is so very delicate that we 
can’t let him have a tutor or think of going to Eton for 
some time to come. All of his father’s family have died of 
consumption, and we have to take every precaution to keep 
him strong and well, and for that reason it may seem to 
you, my dear, that he is a trifle spoiled or exacting.’’ 

“ I think he is a perfect darling," I answered, so warmly 
that Miss Nettleship, wlio was evidently very fond of her 
little charge, brightened with pleasure. 

1 he doctor, coming in a few moments later, declared that 
my visit had done his little patient no harm, therefore it 


MV MOTHERS S ENEMY, 


I2I 


was decided that if I chose to do so I might remain for the 
afternoon. General conversation seeming to languish, 
about four o’clock Charlie asked me whether I could not 
tell a story, and so it came about that I began with him a 
series of Martha’s tales. I told him the various objects 
whose history I had heard. The work-box, the brocaded 
silk, the curl, and the topaz ring. Charlie chose for that 
afternoon the work-box story. 

“You see,” I said, “ it really ought to come before that 
of the brocaded gown, because Miss Bayard bought the box 
the very day that she first wore the dress. It appears that 
she was in London with a party of friends. She was visit- 
ing at some very fine house — I don’t remember just where 
it was — but they were all going to a party. Now, it so 
chanced that some American friends of Miss Bayard’s 
arrived early in the morning and asked her to accompany 
them to a sort of show or bazar which was taking place 
somewhere a little way out of town. Miss Bayard had 
agreed to sit for her portrait that afternoon in the brocaded 
dress, and with her hair in curls, but, as she feared she might 
be late, sent a messenger to the artist, who was a great friend 
of hers, to say where she was going, and to ask him to meet 
her there and arrange for another sitting.” 

I then detailed all that Martha had told me of the expe- 
dition — the sights that the party saw on the way — bringing 
the story up to what I presumed was its important climax. 

“The bazar was held in an immense building, and there 
were any number of booths or stalls where people, some of 
whom were dressed in the costumes of different nations, sold 


122 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


objects of more or less value — things, for instance, like the 
work-box. Miss Bayard was anxious to hurry her party on 
to meet the artist and his sister. She thought more of 
them, Martha says, than almost any body in the world. But 
in some curious way Miss Bayard got separated from the 
others. The crowd was so great, and there was so much 
jostling and pushing, that she was very much alarmed to 
find herself alone in such a throng, and was looking about 
anxiously to know what to do or say when a woman at one 
of the tables spoke to her, and asked her what was the mat- 
ter. Miss Bayard immediately explained her difficulty, and 
the woman very good-naturedly offered to go in search of 
the lost party, as she knew the intricacies of the building 
so well. They set off, but an hour’s search proved entirely 
fruitless, and Miss Bayard, ready to cry with vexation, re- 
turned to the woman’s stall, where, just as a matter 
of politeness, she purchased the work-box, and then, 
thinking it best to return home, took a cab and hastened 
back to her friend’s house. Now, all of this, Charlie,” I 
said with an almost unconscious imitation of Martha’s 
manner, “ may sound very trifling, but do you know that 
just the fact of missing those people that day led to what 
Martha says was the greatest trial of Miss Bayard’s life. 
For the artist and his sister, who had agreed to meet her, 
never received her message, and business called them away 
suddenly the next day. The picture never was painted, and 
one thing after another combined to separate these old 
friends. Miss Bayard heard that the others supposed her 
merely careless of her appointment with them, and so it 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


123 


went on and on. When she gave Martha the worK-box, 
she said to her, very sadly : 

“ * Martha, this is the souvenir of the most mistaken day 
of my life.’ ” 

I paused suddenly, a little afraid that I might be betray- 
ing some of Miss Bayard’s confidences, but Martha had told 
the story very freely, and evidently with no knowledge what- 
ever of any deeper significance to be attached to it, and 
Charlie was deeply interested. 

As I have said, this was the precedent for all the other 
stories which during the next week I told Charlie from time 
to time. Before I left him that evening it was understood 
that I should return on the morrow, and every day until he 
could be moved. 

I went back full of talk ” for Miss Bayard, who listened 
keenly to every thing I had to say, and I really believe it 
was only because other points seemed more interesting that 
I forgot to tell her that I had related the work-box story 
to Charlie. 

The days brought him much freedom from pain, but 
when on a certain fine afternoon I started for the 
cottage for the last time — we were to move him to the White 
House in the capacious carriage of the establishment — I 
was well aware that the doctor felt his final recovery would 
be a tedious affair, and also that Sir Henry Paulding had 
written to announce his speedy return. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE AMETHYSTS. 

C HARLIE had become very fond of the Meluish Cottage, 
and almost regretted, I fancied, that he was obliged to 
leave it ; but there was novelty in the going home, and, 
comfortably curled up on pillows opposite Miss Nettleship 
and myself, he looked very cheerful as we drove slowly 
back to the White House, whose interior, rich I doubted not, 
in its appointments, I was anxious to see. 

But I was disapppointed to find it all light in color, airy 
in design, as Italian looking a place as though it fronted on 
the Adriatic ; and as we followed Charlie, who was being 
carried up-stairs and through a long hall with an effect of 
pink and white in its frescoes. Miss Nettleship explained 
that it had all been designed for Charlie’s elder sister, who 
had faded out of life years before. 

The room into which the little lad was taken carried out 
this impression of light and fancifulness in appointments. 
Every thing was in the Italian and French order. The 
wood-work was white, the ceiling a marvel of fiying cupids 
and rose wreaths, and the hangings daintiest chintz — 
shepherdesses in pink carrying themselves, crook in hand, 
on a ground of pale gray. The furniture was charming. 
Wicker-work and bamboo were then novelties, but the chairs 
and tables in this room had been brought from India long 


A/V MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


125 


before to please the fancy of Charlie’s poor young sister, 
and they added to the effect of a light simplicity, of pret- 
tiness suited to a girl, which the room conveyed. 

I was delighted. It seemed to me I had never seen any 
thing half so pretty, and while they were settling Charlie on 
a deep capacious lounge I moved about softly, so evidently 
admiring, I suppose, the objects I encountered that he saw 
my satisfaction, and so called out : 

There, Helen ! You like it ? O Miss Nettleship 
— she thinks it is a pretty room ! I am so glad ! ” 
And I hardly think dear little Charlie could have said any 
thing to please me more. There is one thing I wish to say 
just here. People have said since that they could not 
W tftiderstand how I cared so much for the life of a mere 
child : that they could not understand why I cared so much 
when something happened ; but years later, old as I am 
now, I realize how deep and true was my affection for 
m Charlie, and, child as he was, how much there was in his 
nature and character which appealed to my finest sentiments. 
He was only a child, of course, and yet I loved him as I 
have scarcely ever loved any thing else on earth. Something 
there was about or in him so high-minded, so personally 
attractive, that he seems to me, even now, strongly identified 
with my living, daily life. 

“ Why, Charlie,” I exclaimed, “ I think this room is 
, lovely.” I turned to him and added, laughing, “ You 
ought to feel like a little prince, my dear, in such a 
! place.” 

He regarded me very gravely. 


126 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


“ What will I do when I am in barracks ? ” he said 
solemnly, “ or perhaps on the field of battle ? ” 

We exchanged a look— Miss Nettleship and I. Her eyes 
filled suddenly with tears, and she turned away toward the 
window murmuring to me, 

“ God help him,” and she added under her breath, “ It 
would kill Sir Henry, I believe, if he lost this one.” 

Charlie clung to my neck when I said good-by, and only 
allowed me to go on condition that I would return early the 
next day. I knew Miss Bayard would allow me to do this, 
and so I readily promised. Then I ran away down the 
bright hall and the staircase and was soon in the “ garden 
window ” with Miss Bayard, who I judged had been watch- 
ing our entrance into the White House and was ready 
enough to hear from me all that I had seen. When I told 
her of the beautiful room into which Charlie had been 
carried she sighed softly. 

“ I never saw the White House,” she said, absently, 

“ until I came here, but I knew it belonged to the Germaines. 
That room must have been for poor little Muriel. She was 
a long time in Italy, and always liked, so I was told, what- i 
ever was bright and cheerful about her. Poor Henry ! ” 
Her voice was low and sad. We were silent for a moment. 
Then she said more cheerfully, I 

“ Now, Helen, after supper we will take out the amethysts, j 
You see I was right. Your mother does not intend to leave j 
Russia for some weeks yet, so that I do believe I can count . 
on your being here for your birthday.” ^ 

I had that morning received a long letter from my ] 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


127 


mother. Stella Hill had been in wretched health, and her 
father had begged of mother to remain if possible a few 
weeks longer, and take his daughters to a country place not 
far from St. Petersburg, the air of which, it was hoped, would 
do them good, so mother wrote that if I was contented she 
would remain, leaving it to Miss Bayard to decide what was 
best for me to do. My dear friend had evidently thought 
the matter over, and I agreed with her in feeling that it 
would be best for me not to break away so suddenly from 
the Bardistons, but to return for a few days to them, 
after which I might with an easy conscience take up 
my residence until mother’s return at Little Britton 
House. Mother said she was interested in my account of 
Charlie Germaine, and bade me ask Miss Bayard whether 
Sir Henry Paulding was one of the Gloucester Pauldings. 
I asked the question, but Miss Bayard stared at me for 
a few moments in blank surprise. Then she said slowly 
}|and anxiously, 

“ Why, I do not understand this. However, tell your 
mother when you write that I think he is.” 

And the subject, like all others of its kind, was peremp- 
torily dropped. 

What girl of fifteen could be impervious to such ornaments 
as Miss Bayard displayed before me after supper ! I think I 
was only moderately fond of dress, but the mere fact that I 
had never owned a jewel, and rarely seen any, only 
heightened my interest in the birthday gift I was to have, 
and which we inspected in Miss Bayard’s dressing-room, 


128 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Martha carrying in the large desk or box in which these 
stones were kept. 

“Your grandmother brought this box with her from 
France,” said Miss Bayard, “and a few years ago, just 
before her death, she gave it, with the amethysts, to me.” 

“ I thought my grandmother died years and years ago,” 
said I. 

Miss Bayard looked thoughtful for an instant. 

“Your own grandmother did,” she said. “This was 
your mother’s step-mother, my cousin.” 

The words “ step-mother ” seemed to be so inclusive that 
I asked no more questions, but I will say here that I was 
glad to find that, although a proud and reserved woman, 
my grandfather’s second wife had done her duty by his 
children in every way she understood. 

The box was a cumbersome affair. In old times, so said 
Miss Bayard, it had been used for holding private papers, 
and the lock was a difficult one to manage. But the key 
worked at last. The cover was raised and my birthday gift 
lay sparkling before me ! 

I uttered a cry of delight as I lifted the necklace of 
sparkling stones up, and flew to the mirror, girl-like, to try 
them on at once. They made a shining little circlet about 
my throat, and I lifted a candle in my hand the better to 
see and admire the reflection of my dazzling self. 

The picture of that moment comes back easily as I write. 
The large room with its shadowy corners and its spots of 
light. Miss Bayard’s tall, graceful figure just at my shoulder, 
my own girlish self, the face in the mirror, eager, happy, 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


129 


and impatient all together, and the stones shining on my 
neck almost like living things, and to me doubly fascinating 
in that they seemed like a link from that mysterious past 
to which my mother belonged and of which I knew so little. 

‘‘ Now we’ll put them back until the birthday,” said Miss 
Bayard, good-naturedly. “ Then on that day you can wear 
them as long as you please.” 

We laughed over this, and when I went to my room I was 
very glad to think of something new to tell Charlie, and I 
decided promptly that on the birthday in question if I were 
here I would take the jewel box across to the White House 
and let him enjoy my present with me. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE BERLIN BAZAR. 


HE Bardistons understood before I started for Britton 



A Bay that I was to return to Miss Bayard after a week’s 
stay with them, and I thought it an indication of their feeling 
well content in the new home, that my withdrawal from 
the family circle was taken in such good part. On a certain 
Wednesday I started, Martha placing me safely in the train 
while Sissy Bardiston was to meet me at the end of my short 
journey. It was a glorious rooming. June had come 
in, deepening every tint in the landscape, enriching all its 
summer loveliness, and I thought, as on the first occasion 
of my seeing it, Britton Bay with its shining water, verdant 
slopes, and fair blue sky was the most fascinating of all 
places I had known. 

Sissy met me at the station, the little Goodwins with her, 
and I was received with every demonstration from all three, 
while in the first moment I observed how improved Sissy 
was in appearance. Indeed her whole manner was so 
bright and cheerful that I could scarcely realize she was 
the same girl who two months before, had greeted me with 
such a dejected hopeless kind of manner. 

“ Isn t it spendid weather ! ” exclaimed Sissy as, having 
given my portmanteau in charge of a boy, we started to walk 
up to the new house. “ The band plays this afternoon, and 


My MOTHER* S ENEMY, 


131 

we must go and hear it. But oh, there is such a heap to talk 
about.” 

“ How do you like the Berlin wool business ? ” I inquired, 
feeling sure that keeping shop must be fascinating occupa- 
tion. 

“ Immensely,” said Sissy, turning her dark happy eyes 
upon me, “ and you don’t know how comfortable we are, 
and mother thoroughly enjoys keeping house. We are think- 
ing of taking a second servant, because you see we have 
to cook for the lodgers.” 

A few moments more, and we had turned up Bath Street, 
on the corner of which was the Bardistons’ new abode, and 
we entered through the shop, that I might see how bright it 
looked, Sissy’s really good taste having improved decidedly 
on Mrs. Yarnall’s methods of arrangement, while the little 
shop parlor, with a great jar of freshly cut flowers on the 
center table, and materials for a piece of Sissy’s wool work 
strewn about, looked very bright and home-like. 

Indeed, on going across the hall, and into the sitting-room 
where Mrs. Bardiston appeared coming hastily from the 
kitchen, I was at once impressed with the cleanliness and the 
comfortable air of every thing so different from the painful 
sort of pretention of Albert Villa, while Mrs. Bardiston 
appeared quite as bright at Sissy. 

“ My dear Miss Helen,” she exclaimed, shaking hands 
warmly with me, how glad we are to see you ; you have 
no idea how cosy and comfortable we are, and I am de- 
lighted to think of making even these few days really pleas- 
ant for you.” 


132 


MY MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


I assured the kind hearted woman that I was bent on 
thoroughly enjoying myself, and I intended to get some 
fun for myself out of the shop, since I might never again 
have such an opportunity; so as soon as I had laid aside my 
things in a cosy little room up-stairs whence I could see the 
Bay, rippled over and sparkling as though with a myriad of 
jewels in the sunshine, I insisted upon Sissy’s allowing me 
to accompany her to the shop parlor, where, during this 
part of the day, as she explained, she was on duty, while her 
mother attended to various household duties. I knew some- 
thing of wool work — could fill in a canvas pattern quite 
creditably, and I insisted upon selecting something as my 
first purchase from the shop which I could make up into 
a foot-stool for Miss Bayard. This accomplished, we sat 
down very comfortably at the center table, and as I worked 
Sissy told me about the lodgers. 

“ We have an old admiral and his two daughters in the 
drawing-room fioor,” she said, instinctively lowering her 
voice as she mentioned these august personages. “ There 
are two small bed-rooms, you know, on the second fioor which 
we did not go into that day. The young ladies have those. 
The admiral has a terrific temper ; but the young ladies are 
rather nice — stiff, of course, as pokers. They sail into the 
shop and make a purchase worth about six-pence as though 
we ought to put the money away under a glass case, be- 
cause they have held it in their aristocratic fingers once 
upon a time.” 

I laughed and begged of Sissy to let me wait on these 
exclusive young ladies if a chance occurred. 


MY mothur^s enemy. 133 

“ Oh, there will be one,” said Sissy, with a sniff, and bend- 
ing forward in a very business-like manner to match her 
wools, “ for Miss Ethel said she would call to-day for some 
blue wool she ordered. Mrs. Yarnall left yesterday, and 
she was to send it down from London. Miss Ethel is not 
quite so haughty as Miss Lesley.” 

“ Lesley,” I echoed. “ Why, I wonder if those are the 
cousins little Charlie Germaine has told me so much about! ” 

Sissy was all attention, and dropped her wool work to 
listen, after remarking, 

“ Well, I shouldn’t wonder. Sir Henry Paulding was 
here a little while ago, for the day at Mallerdean, and they 
dined there.” 

“ Yes,” I answered, “ he came over to the White House 
for an hour or two last week, but I did not see him.” 

And my mind ran back to the day when Sir Henry Paul- 
ding came and went unseen, it would appear, by any of his 
household, although Charlie tried, he assured me, to get 
me word in time to meet his beloved uncle. Charlie was 
still unable to leave his sofa, and on days that I could 
spend with him we used to sit together in the pink and gray 
room by the hour, Miss Nettleship sometimes joining us 
with her work, sometimes by ourselves with only the firelight 
and the afternoon shadows to listen to our chatter, which was 
on all manner of topics, grave and gay, martial and peace- 
ful. On this occasion we had been a whole afternoon by 
ourselves. 

“I told Uncle Harry all about you,” said Charlie, and 
he thinks you must be an awful jolly girl. I told him most 


134 


My MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


of the stories,” he continued. The work-box story inter- 
ested him very much.” 

“ And will he come back again ? ” I inquired. 

“ Oh, very soon,” said Charlie. “ He’s just gone up to 
London to see some of the people who have been doing up 
Mallerdean, and he’s decided, we are to go over there in 
October. Geoff will be home then and the Lesleys are 
coming and — oh ! ” Charlie sighed as though the idea of 
so much company was just a trifle wearisome. “ I wish you’d 
come too. I told Uncle Harry we must beg of you to 
come.” 

“ And what did he say ? ” 

He said I might do my best, and tell you you would be 
heartily welcome.” 

But even now, when the conversation recurred to my 
mind, such a prospect seemed too remote for consideration, 
and I did not even allude to it to Sissy, fearing to start the 
train of her imaginative fancies in regard to my future. 
But it would be fun to see the Miss Lesleys without their 
knowing I was Miss Bayard’s or Charlie’s friend, while it 
would be almost as good as one of Martha’s stories to give 
Charlie a history of our encounter. So, I remarked to Sissy 
that I hoped the exclusive Miss Ethel would soon make 
her appearance. 

“ I will show you where the wool she will ask for is to be 
found,” said Sissy, leading the way into the shop, and there 
designating a newly arrived package of pale blue Shet- 
land. “ I am just beginning to imitate successfully Mrs. Yar- 
nall’s way of opening a package of wool and displaying it 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


135 


to a customer,” added Sissy, proceeding to give me a speci- 
men of her skill, which I declared looked exceedingly busi- 
nesslike. 

It was well that I had received my instructions, for five 
minutes later Admiral Lesley’s carriage had stopped before 
the door, and the young ladies, alighting, entered the shop 
before going to their rooms. 

They were tall, high-featured, blonde girls, of any 
age between eighteen and twenty-five, with what I consid- 
ered a very rude way of staring at one while they spoke. 
The one I judged to be the younger asked for the wool in 
a sweet-toned but imperious voice, and while I, feeling 
rather indignant at their manner, produced the package, 
forgetting even a feeble imitation of Sissy’s manner, I ob- 
served that both sisters were regarding me with unusual in- 
terest, or I had better say curiosity, since there was noth- 
ing particularly friendly in their expression. Sissy, for want 
of some occupation, was busy turning over some knitting 
needles in one of the counter drawers, and I made an ex- 
cuse to approach her, and while I was ^pretending to make 
some inquiry concerning the wool I distinctly heard Miss 
Ethel say in a half whisper to her sister : “ Did you ever 
see such a resemblance?” and Miss Lesley’s quick “To 
whom ? ” was answered by “ Fanny Dowling of course,” 
and I returned to my self-imposed duty with a decided in- 
crease of color in my cheeks, and some curiosity concerning 
the “ Fanny Dowling” whom I was supposed to resemble. 
I have often remarked that the very best bred English 
woman will allow her curiosity to overrule almost every 


136 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Other sentiment, and so I can understand how it was that 
the Miss Lesleys so forgot themselves as to linger after 
their purchase was complete, for the older one to say to 
me, 

“ Would you mind telling us your name ? ” 

“ I am an American,” I answered, with as much dignity 
as possible, and holding my head very high ; “ my name is 
Helen Glenn.” 

“ Oh, thanks very much,” said Miss Lesley, with a stac- 
cato sort of smile; “we could not help noticing your very 
striking resemblance to a young friend of ours, but of 
course you could scarcely be any relation.” 

They swept out of the store, and Sissy, darting an in- 
dignant glance at the retreating figures, exclaimed, 

“ I declare, Helen, you’ve missed your opportunity ! 
Why didn’t you say that you knew old Lady Dowling very 
well ? ” 

“ I said “ Nonsense,” but all the same I felt a disagreeable 
sense of having been snubbed by the Miss Lesleys, who 
evidently looked down upon me for serving in a shop, but 
after all Charlie would enjoy the story I felt sure, and I would 
try to imitate their very superior manner when I repeated 
the brief interview to him. Other customers came and 
went ; one o’clock brought Susan out to take Sissy’s 
place, while we went in to enjoy a dinner such as Albert 
Villa never could have known. Every thing good in quality 
and, though simple in variety, well cooked and cosily served. 
Mrs. Bardiston seemed in excellent spirits, and I saw that 
she was in her proper place, now, keeping house and shop 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


137 


together, attending to the culinary department with a zest, 
since she had her lodgers to please, and finding no time for 
lamentations over that luxurious past in which she and her 
sister Maria had not been able to attend the same ball, 
owing to the existence of but one muslin gown. The neigh- 
bors, she informed me, had been very friendly and were 
“ exceedingly nice people.” 

“ Mr. Roberts, the chemist over the way,” she said, with 
the same superior tone she had used when referring to for- 
mer acquaintances of greater social magnitude, “ has called 
with his wife, and very agreeable people they seem. As 
well as Mr. and Mrs. Banks, who have the large fancy goods 
shop you may have noticed in Devon Street. I foresee many 
pleasant evenings for Sissy and myself during the 
winter.” 

I declared myself greatly interested and pleased, with 
such a prospect for my friends, and when we all started out 
for a walk on the Parade Pier where we should hear the 
band play Mrs. Bardiston impressed upon Sissy that, “ al- 
though, of course, Miss Bayard might prefer that no intro- 
ductions were made, she must be sure and point out to me 
any of their new accquaintances.” 

An injunction which Sissy did not disregard, for no 
sooner had we mingled with the gayly-dressed and animated 
crowd of people who were assembled on or near the Pier 
than she hastened to let me know who was this one and that; 
but the music pleased me much more than gazing after 
young Miss Roberts or Mr. Joe Banks; and, seeing that Sissy 
was anxious for a few words with her new friends, I begged 


MV MOTHER^S ENEMY. 


13S 

her to leave me on one of the comfortable rustic seats near 
the band pavilion, while she accepted the youngest Miss 
Roberts’ invitation to walk up and down for a little while. 

Left thus, I gave myself up to quiet enjoyment of the 
scene and the music. Below the terrace on which I was 
seated, the beach stretched gleaming golden in the after- 
noon light, with the water rippling towards it and stretching 
to the horizon, dotted here and there with white sails that 
seemed outlined against the dense blue of the sky, while the 
shore which curved about this portion of the bay presented 
a picture sparkling with life and brilliancy, verdant with the 
varied colors and deep green of June. I certainly felt the 
need of no companionship beyond what the elements of 
such a picture on such a day afforded me, and the delight- 
ful strains of music from the pavilion acted like a fascinat- 
ing accompaniment to my thoughts, which were of all the 
happy things in my life, the pleasure I felt in being with 
Miss Bayard or in my sweet companinship with little Charlie 
— of knowing that mother was well cared for and enjoying 
travel, which, for all our quiet life, I felt sure she loved, while 
last, but by no means least, was the satisfaction in seeing 
the Bardistons so entirely happy and in a fair way to pros-, 
perity. 

The band was performing a selection from what was then 
a new opera, “ Dinorah,” and I never hear the music of 
its “ Shadow Dance” without that smiling picture unrolled 
before my gaze coming back to mind, and I seem to see my- 
self as I rose, and still keeping Sissy’s distant figure in 
view, moved towards the cliff, the dainty measure of the 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


J39 


music following me as I took my place on a comfortable 
ledge of rock, hollowed out so that I could lean back at 
ease, listen to the music, and let my fascinated gaze rest on 
the stretch of shining water below me. 

A shadow fell suddenly across the turf at my feet. I 
looked up to see a tall, fine-looking lad, a few years older 
than myself, standing before me, hat in hand, as he held 
out the handkerchief I had dropped in moving away. 
Something strangely familiar struck me in the expression 
of his face, the blue eyes and short, wavy, fair hair, clear-cut 
features, mouth and chin resolute, although the smile was 
singularly winning, all were strangely like a manly older 
edition of my little Charlie; and as I took my handkerchief, 
murmuring some kind of thanks and excuse for my careless- 
ness, I found it impossible not to show the curiosity and 
interest in the stranger that I felt. To my surprise he lin- 
gered after restoring my property and said in the most 
frankly good humored tone: 

“ I beg your pardon, but am I not speaking to Miss 
Helen Glenn, from America ? I saw the name on your 
handkerchief.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


GEOFFREY GERMAINE. 

M y surprise may readily be imagined ! No sooner had 
I answered that he had guessed rightly, than he said, 
seating himself with no further ceremony, on the cliff near 
me : 

“ Then you must let me introduce myself. I am Charlie 
Germaine’s cousin, Geoffrey Germaine. He has written and 
spoken to me about you; when I go over to the White House 
this afternoon I shouldn’t find any welcome, I am afraid, Miss 
Helen, if I did not report having made myself known.” 

“ Is it possible ! ” I exclaimed, laughing and coloring 
together, “ that you are the wonderful Geoff, who figures 
in so many of Charlie’s stories ? ” And then becoming 
conscious that my companion was almost what might be 
called “ grown up ” — certainly between eighteen and 
twenty years of age, I felt ashamed of my forwardness in 
speaking. But Mr. Geoffrey Germaine was by no means 
offended. He laughed and declared that he was very proud 
of Charlie’s devotion, and added, with a sudden air of seri- 
ousness, that he felt like thanking me for what I had done 
to amuse him since his recent illness. 

There is nothing — nothing possibly to thank me for,” I 
said hurriedly. Charlie is the dearest little fellow in the 
world, and I am so happy when I can be of any comfort or 
service to him.” I paused and, remembering some of Miss 


M Y MO THER ’ 5 EN EM Y. 


41 


Nettleship's dreary prognostications, I added anxiously, 
“ Do you think, Mr. Germaine, that he will get very well 
ever ? ’’ 

Geoffrey’s face grew very thoughtful. 

“ There are about three chances out of ten in his favor, I 
believe,” he said in a very sad tone of voice. You know 
his mother and sister died of consumption, and it’s sup- 
posed that Charlie has inherited the same complaint. But, 
as you doubtless know, Sir Henry has done every thing 
possible to ward off the danger in Charlie’s case. He is 
his uncle’s idol, and I dare not think what would happen to 
Sir Henry if he really were to be taken. However, we 
must hope for the best.” 

A brief silence ensued, during which I tried to remember 
just what was the connection beteen Geoffrey and Sir Henry 
Paulding, and, coming to no decision, I ventured to ask the 
question. 

“ Charlie is Sir Henry’s nearest of kin,” said Geoffrey, in 
his frank, downright manner, and looking at me out of the 
most honest pair of blue eyes I had ever seen, “ and as 
Charlie’s cousin, and distantly^connected with Sir Henry 
himself, am I allowed to feel myself second in importance.” 
He laughed lightly and, tossing a pebble out into the sea, 
continued, “ I don’t know what I should have done if this 
were not the case, as I’m like most of us Germaines, very 
much alone in the world. I can’t imagine just how it hap- 
pens that there are such a collection of the family in the 
picture gallery at Mallerdean, or we seem to have died off 
in this century with the most surprising alacrity.” 


142 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


I said as I glanced at his athletic young figure and fine 
face, tanned healthily and vigorous in every line, that he did 
not look much like an early death himself, whereupon he 
laughed again and answered that “ worthless people were 
sure to be long-lived,” but in a moment, his eyes resting on 
some distant object, he asked me if I had ever been to 
Mallerdean. 

I shook my head. 

“ No,” I answered, “ but I am very curious and anxious to 
see it.” 

“ Nothing easier,” Geoffrey declared, and to my delight 
he added, “ Would you like to go through it to-morrow ? If 
I were not obliged to go over to Britton-Marsh I’d like noth- 
ing better than to take you out myself, but my card will 
answer the purpose, if you send it in to Mrs. Dewby, the 
housekeeper.” 

He fumbled in a side-pocket for his card-case, while I 
turned my gaze in the direction of the wooded park, I could 
see beyond what I knew to be the entrance gates to Maller- 
dean. The turrets and outline of a fine building were 
dimly discernible in the distance, and I wondered whether 
it were really true that the morrow should reveal in detail 
the glories of a place so familiar to me from Charlie’s de- 
scription ! Mr. Germaine had been scribbling something 
on the back of his card and he now looked up to ask where 
I was staying ? I explained, and with some conscious dig- 
nity, “ with my friends the Bardistons,” my idea of con- 
sideration for them making me think it would sound unkind 
to speak of myself only as their lodger. A queer little ex- 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


143 


pression gleamed in Geoffrey’s eyes and hovered about his 
lips, but he said as frankly as ever, “ Oh, that’s the Berlin 
wool shop, isn’t it? My cousins, the Lesleys, lodge there.” 

I answered yes, but said nothing in regard to my mother’s 
Russian journey, my association and visit with Miss Bayard, 
or indeed any of the particulars connected with my life in 
England, and I am certain that for all his polite and sincere 
interest in me Mr. Germaine’s inborn prejudices were a lit- 
tle jarred to find that his cousin’s favorite companion 
belonged to Mrs. Bardiston’s class. But it served only to 
heighten my reluctance to speak of myself, and at the same 
time I could not help a slight feeling of amusement, know- 
ing how my position at the White House was puzzling him, 
but Geoffrey hastened to break the silence by handing me 
the card, saying that he felt sure “ it would be all right and 
Mrs. Dewby would show me every thing.” 

I rose now, saying I must try to find Sissy, and Geoffrey, 
anxious, it appeared, to be specially civil, lest I feel any em- 
barrassment as a result of admitting to my inferior social 
station, begged to know whether I had any commissions or 
messages for Charlie, as he was to be “ on time for dinner at 
Britton-Marsh.” 

‘‘ Only my best love,” I said, smiling, as I held my hand 
out for good-by. “ But perhaps you had better tell him how 
glad I was to meet you and that I am going to see Mailer- 
dean.” 

He declared he would remember every word, shook my 
hand warmly, and bowed Himself away. I returned to my 
bench nenr the pavilion, whence I observed young Mr. Ger- 


144 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


maine joining the Miss Lesleys, and a party of fashionably 
dressed people. Some rapid conversation seemed to go on 
between them ; they glanced in my direction — I fancied I 
saw a look of supreme astonishment, if not contempt, on 
the Miss Lesleys’ faces as the party moved away, but, in 
spite of a sense of mortification and annoyance of which I 
was ashamed, I could not regret this encounter, for now, as 
I told myself, when Charlie talked of Geoff the fine manly 
young face and the pleasant frank tones of his voice would 
come back, making Charlie’s enthusiasm and admiration 
something with which, even in a lesser degree, I could share, 
and I determined on the morrow to search among the pic- 
tured Germaines at Mallerdean for the traits indicated in 
Geoffrey’s spirited, if not actually handsome, young face. 
Perhaps he was destined to wear the uniform and do the 
deeds of valor for which my poor Charlie must, I feared, 
long in vain. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


PLEASANT EXPECTATIONS. 

I WAS not long alone. Sissy soon appeared, her face 
radiant with expectation, for, as she promptly remarked, 
she had seen my visitor, recognized him as young Mr. Ger- 
maine, and now was in a state of great excitement over 
what I might have to tell. It was already nearly five 
o’clock ; the crowd had dispersed and the last strains of the 
afternoon music died away, so that we were quite ready to 
turn our faces homeward, especially as there was so much 
to talk about connected with the proposed visit to Mal- 
lerdean. 

“ Of course this will be simply perfection,” exclaimed 
Sissy. “ There are show-rooms to be seen every Thursday, 
but with young Mr. Germaine’s card we shall see every 
thing. I declare, Helen, you were in luck when you met 
Master Charlie's cousin ! ” 

I quite agreed with her, and yet I could not discuss the 
point quite as demonstratively as Sissy evidently would 
have liked, but I smiled my sympathy and response to her 
enthusiasm ; and, once up stairs in my own breezy little 
room, sitting in the window where I could see very plainly 
the turrets of Mallerdean Manor House, I took out Geof- 
frey’s card and re-read what he had written upon it. 

Stored away among many treasures of the past I have 


146 MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 

that little card to-day, since by an odd chance it came again 
into my keeping ; and how much does it not suggest of that 
long ago summer time and all that was so eventful in my 
life. I read as follows : 

“ Will Mrs. Dewby please show Miss Glenn and party all 
over Mallerdean ? Miss Glenn is particularly anxious to 
see all the pictures. — G. K. G.” 

What an open sesame this bit of pasteboard would prove ! 
How delightful to give Charlie details of my visit ! So 
thinking, and humming an air gaily, I smoothed my hair, put 
on fresh collar and cuffs, and ran down to the shop parlor, 
where I found the little Goodwins assisting in laying the 
cloth for tea, which was served there. Sissy informed me, 
while she was toasting muffins and Cuthbert was busy 
reading out in the garden. I joined him and we talked 
over his lessons, and also the encounter I had so enjoyed 
with young Germaine, and to my delight Cuthbert could 
tell me a great deal about him. 

“ His father used to be Head Master at Britton-Marsh,” 
Cuthbert explained, “ and some of the oldest boys remem- 
ber Mr. Geoffrey. He was a prime favorite, they say. One 
of the kind who always acted on the square, you know, and 
they never get done talking of a famous ball match he led 
five years ago. It is called “ Fifteens,” and there never 
was such a show, the fellows say.” 

“ But he is at Oxford now,” I said, feeling greatly 
interested. 

“ Oh yes ; he took a scholarship, you know.” 

And poor Bertie sighed ! If he could only attain next 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


147 


year to this academical honor what pride and joy would it 
not bring to his heart ! We chatted pleasantly enough on 
this congenial topic for another ten minutes, when Hilda 
came flying out to say tea was ready and to squeeze my 
hand closely in both her little palms while she whispered 
she meant to “ hold me and tie me down so that I could 
not go away again.” 

Mrs. Bardiston, in her afternoon cap and second best 
black silk, presided over the tea-table with an air of exceed- 
ing affability and evident gratification in my seeing how 
very cosy and comfortable the household was in its new 
I® quarters, and when I had done full justice to every thing 
with the appetite of healthy youth, she yet pressed more 
upon me, insisting that I was not “ my old self certainly or 
I would take this, that, and the other.” But at last the 
table was cleared, and while Sissy and her mother were in 
the shop attending to a large party of customers from the 
Hotel, I gathered Cuthbert and the Goodwins about me 
and told stories in the twilight until little Hilda, sitting on 
my lap, let her head droop as she fell fast asleep on my 
shoulder. Muriel led the way and I carried her up to her 
little bed, and helped the older sister also to make ready 
for the night, as they did not remain up to the late supper, 
they told me ; after which I returned to Cuthbert and 
insisted upon taking out the Latin books according to our 
old custom, while Sissy flitted back and forth, once darting 
up to answer Admiral Lesley’s bell. She returned with a 
very amused expression dancing in her eyes. 

“ What do you suppose, Helen ! ” she exclaimed, sitting 


148 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


down near us for an instant. “ When Miss Lesley had given 
me her orders for to-morrow’s breakfast— we do her market- 
ing you know — she detained me to say in her lofty manner, 
“ Your young friend appears to be quite 2^ nice little person. 
May I ask if she is learning the business with you ? ” 

“ And what did you tell her, Sissy ? ” I demanded. 

“Oh,” answered Sissy, laughing, “ I thought it would be 
great fun to mystify her, so I said as demurely as possible 
you couldn’t say what you intended to do just yet.” 

“ And then ? ” I remembered the look of cold disdain and 
annoyance cast upon me by Miss Lesley in the afternoon, 
and my cheeks burned. 

“ Well, I saw there was something else on her mind,” said 
Sissy, “ and I waited half a minute, when she said in a very 
majestic way, ‘ A young cousin of ours was speaking to her 
to-day, I believe ; as she is an American she might possibly 
misunderstand his noticing her. It appears that she was 
very good-natured to Master Charlie Germaine when he 
fell from a carriage, and all that my cousin Geoffrey wished 
to do was to thank her for her civility.’ ” 

“ Why didn’t you leave the room in silent contempt. Sis ! ” 
Cuthbert exclaimed angrily, while I saT: speechless, feeling 
my cheeks tingle and an indignant sense of the slight 
offered, contending with an instinctive feeling that Geoffrey 
Germaine could not so have spoken of me. No ! I recalled 
the frank look of his face, the honesty of the blue eyes 
fixed upon me, when he spoke of my “ comforting ” Charlie, 
and I refused to credit him with such small sentiments. As 
to Miss Lesley ! what mattered it to mother or me what her 


AIV MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


149 

opinion might or might not be ! I laughed while Sissy said 
quickly : 

“ I just wanted to hear her out for the fun of it ! I knew 

how mad she would be when she discovers Helen is staying 

at Little Britton House. I lingered until she had finished 

speaking, and then said very politely, ‘ I will tell Miss 

Glenn what you say. Miss Lesley, but I do not think you 

I need worry about her misunderstanding any thing. Her 

mother is always exceedingly particular about any acquaint- 

[ ance she makes.’ ” 

[ 

I And Sissy held her head up in the air and spoke with the 
tone I am sure she must have used to Miss Lesley, and 
which made both Cuthbert and me laugh heartily. 

“ I think on the whole I had the best of it,” continued 
■ Sissy, with sparkling eyes. “ I left her looking more per- 
j**plexed and mystified than ever, and I don’t doubt she is 
; discussing what they probably call my ‘ impertinence ’ at 
Jthis moment with Miss Ethel ! ” 

I “ Well, never mind. Sissy,” I declared with a light sigh. 
<‘I don’t think they are worth bothering over, and you 
know it would never do for you to offend them. Come, 

I didn’t you say you were going to let me help you in your 
accounts ? ” 

■ “ Of course,” said Sissy, springing up and going over to 

a little secretary in the corner whence she produced her 
i“ books.” 

“ Oh, Helen ! Isn’t it delightful to balance books that 
don’t come out all debit and no credit ! ” 

I We had gone over the old kind so often that there was 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


150 

really a great satisfaction in the figures now to be summed 
up, and by Sissy’s showing the shop was already more than 
“ paying its way,” while the little Goodwins, whose father 
was a captain out in India, were paying their regular thirty 
shillings a week for the two. “ Quite a change,” whispered 
Sissy, “ for you know, or perhaps you didn’t know, nothing 
had been paid for them in a twelvemonth.” 

And yet they had so long constituted what was referred 
to as “ the school ! ” but hopeless as this made the old 
scheme of life appear, it yet placed the Bardistons in a 
more generous and kindly light than ever, and I could not 
help contrasting their forbearing charity toward the forlorn 
little girls with Miss Lesley’s cold hauteur and dread of 
my “ American ” intrusiveness. 

“ You see their father has been wretchedly ill,” continued 
Sissy, “and their mother died just before he returned to 
India, so we couldn’t press for the money until lately, when 
we found they had a cousin doing very well in Exeter. 
Mother wrote and told him how the case stood, and now he 
sends the thirty shillings a week regularly. It covers all 
expenses, and mother says while that is done she will not 
send them away.” 

I gave Sissy’s hand an affectionate squeeze to indicate 
my appreciation of her mother’s kindness, but she hastily 
turned the subject to one which was engrossing to us both, 
our visit to Mallerdean the next day. Sissy had various 
bits of information connected with the place to give me. 
To begin with, the main part of the building was the oldest 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


151 

in existence in this part of the country, and had in its day 
been famous for entertaining royalty. 

“ Mary Burge told me,” said Sissy, with the usual sparkle 
in her eyes which came when any subject interested her, 
and made her face so bright to look upon, “ that a room is 
shown where Queen Elizabeth and some of her gay court 
danced one night, and in another apartment — such a mag- 
nificent place Mary says — her bed is shown and the chair 
she sat in.” 

These were suggestions enough to fill my mind with 
delightful fancies, and long after I was in my bed in the 
summer darkness, which had a soft gleam of moonlight 
through it, I conjured up pictures of what I might hope 
to see on the morrow ; captivating, poetic fancies they 
were, for, like many American girls, I had a romantic ideal 
of what an old English castle or manor house ought to be, 
and so far my experience had been sufficiently limited to 
make me all the more ardent in my desires to extend 
them. Where I lay in my comfortable little bed I could 
hear a faint sound of the water lapping the beach, and it 
soothed me gradually into the most delicious slumber. 


CHAPTER XX. 


MALLERDEAN. 



FLOOD of sunshine in my little room awakened me 


^ by six o’clock the next morning, and, remembering 
a promise to go out to the early market with Sissy, I made 
my toilet as quickly as possible, and ran down stairs to find 
her, duster in hand, arranging the shop, while Cuthbert, who 
had been taking down the shutters, was making ready to 
water the flower-beds, these being his special duties before 
an early breakfast and startling off to school. 

“ We’re to have an errand boy next week,” said Sissy, 
joining me in the shop-parlor where I helped her to lay 
the breakfast cloth, Susan coming in with a tray of dishes 
and regarding me with smiling approval: “ You see so many 
of the county people or, perhaps I had better say, the 
gentry living near the town want their purchases sent 
to them and of course Bertie can’t be expected to run 
errands here as he did in Britton-Marsh.” 

I quite agreed with her in this and feeling as though the 
sunshine and the sweet fragrances of the summer morn- 
ing had gone to my head in some way, I ran out into the 
garden, which Bertie kept in excellent order, not attempt- 
ing to rob it of its pretty, old-fashioned look, only seeing that 
the beds were well weeded and the blossoms cared for, 
while under the wide branches of an old apple-tree he had 


My MOTHER’S ENEMY' 


153 


contrived a very nice rustic seat and a small table, upon 
which his books were now resting. I picked one up, turn- 
ing the pages over idly, and at the same moment a letter in 
a thick white envelope with a crest upon it fell to the 
ground. 

Cuthbert started and his face flushed. 

“ I declare, Helen,” he exclaimed, “ I forgot all about 
that letter ! A footman from Mallerdean brought it last 
night. It was for Admiral Lesley, he said, from Sir Henry 
Paulding. Nell, I hope it is nothing very important.” 

We both hurried in to Sissy with the neglected letter, 
Bertie hastening to add that the man said Sir Henry had 
come down from London unexpectedly, but would leave 
Mallerdean to-day. 

“ Dear, me Bertie,” said Sissy, very much distressed, 
“that was sadly forgetful of you, but your head is always 
away up in the clouds lately.” 

She flew away up stairs to deposit the letter on the 
admiral’s table in the drawing-room, where he would find it 
on coming out to his breakfast, while I stood still in the 
window of the little parlor lost in thought, wondering 
whether Sir Henry’s being at Mallerdean ought to influence 
our visit there. Directly Sissy returned, I asked her 
opinion. 

“ That won’t make any difference,” she said briskly, “it’s 
a show place anyway, and of course even if Sir Henry were 
there, we would not see him. But why not, after all,” she 
added suddenly, and looking at me with new interest. 
“ Surely after your kindness to Charlie Germaine — ” 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


154 

I interrupted her quickly, coloring at the thought of 
intruding upon Charlie’s uncle for such a reason. 

“ Oh, no— no Sissy, dear,” I said hurriedly, “ not for 
any thing. I want to see Mallerdean and the pictures, and 
all that, but I hope Sir Henry won’t even find out I have 
been there.” 

But Sissy’s expression might have shown me that she 
had no idea of allowing me to miss an “ opportunity ” if 
one arose. 

I was ready that day to enjoy every thing, and when, 
breakfast over. Sissy and I set forth for our marketing 
it seemed to me as though no occupation could have been 
more entertaining. We went up into a hilly portion of the 
town where the shops and buildings were quainter in 
design than those nearer the sea, and what delighted me 
was the fact that every shopkeeper had his or her counter 
gay with the wild flowers which abound in such lavish pro- 
fusion from March until November in South Devonshire. 
To purchase our eggs and butter from baskets placed on a 
stand richly colored with sweet peas, the yellow green of 
** Lady’s Mantle,” or the white-flowered dryas and guelder 
rose, seemed to suggest that they could not but be the very 
best of country produce, while even the grocer in handing 
Sissy her package of tea and sugar offered a bouquet of 
pale pink pimpernels, and some of the deep scarlet, calling 
her attention to the fact that the day was going to be fine, 
since the brilliant blossoms lay open, instead of closing, as 
they always do when clouds are gathering and rain is 
imminent. 


MV MOTHER^S ENEMY. 


155 


Isn’t it delightful to pay as you go? ” said Sissy, when, 
our last purchase made, we were descending the slope to 
the Berlin Wool Bazar once more. “ I declare the satis- 
faction it gives one is more than all the poetry in the world, 
but I have not altogether abandoned my romantic dreams for 
you,” she added, laughing and regarding my beaming face 
with an amused expression on her own. I answered, laughing 
with her, that I was a poor subject to romance about and 
yet — yet, in my very heart of hearts, was there not some 
such vague idea as influenced Sissy in her day-dreams for 
me ? Had I not some faint, intangible fancy that perhaps 
a bit of romance lay in that past — that English life about 
which my mother was so strangely silent ? However, con- 
jecturing would do no good, and at all events I was certainly 
too happy to admit of any thing like regret, even should 
what was mysterious in my mother’s past never find 
solution. 

I took my work into the shop for the rest of the morning, 
amused and interested by observing Sissy’s customers, and 
occasionally helping her, rising at once to do so when Miss 
Ethel Lesley appeared, to buy some more blue wool and 
favor me with another critical stare, which only made me 
the more busines>-like in manner, and I nearly upset Sissy’s 
gravity by saying, with a decidedly nasal intonation. 

Have we any more of the light-blue wool. Miss Bar- 
diston ? ” and, observing that Miss Ethel was all attention, 
I indulged in one or two rather decided Yankeeisms, such 
as I had certainly never heard among our own class at 
home ! 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


“ Oh, Helen ! " exclaimed Sissy, as soon as our customer 
had departed, “ how could you ! I verily believe she will 
feel it her duty to warn Sir Henry against you, as not a fit 
companion for little Charlie ! ” 

“All right," I answered gayly, “ Tm willing to abide by 
Charlie’s decision." 

The morning passed rapidly enough, and, dinner over, 
about three o’clock we set forth. Sissy, Cuthbert, and I, for 
Mallerdean Manor House. 

Our road lay through a delicious country and the walk 
seemed scarcely long enough. We took one of the hilly 
pathways which were skirted by hedges almost as verdant 
as if the season were not advanced nearly to the winter. 
The town below looked gay and animated as in the morn- 
ing, for the sunshine was as brilliant as at mid-day, and 
yet there was an exhilaration in the atmosphere, and the 
fresh breezes from the sea which gave a color to our cheeks 
and lent something, it seemed to me, light-hearted and 
happy to our steps. Sissy had already roamed about the 
park of Mallerdean several times, and so knew her way to 
the entrance gates by a short cut. The lodge-keeper 
opened them very good-humoredly, and on seeing Mr. 
Germaine’s card was all civility and courtesy, explaining 
that we had better go to the side entrance of the house and 
ask for Mrs. Dewby, the housekeeper, at once. 

The finely proportioned line of buildings, antique and 
sumptuous in design, delighted me as they met our view. 
The house stood upon a: slight eminence, terraces flagged 
with marble and ornamented with huge vases, on one of 


MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


157 


which in the November sunlight a gorgeous peacock was 
sunning himself, faced the main entrance, and from these 
a flight of marble steps led down to the first of the flower 
gardens, while beyond this the lawn was richly dotted with 
cedar, oak and chestnut trees. It seemed almost impossi- 
ble that the great manor should be maintained for one fam- 
ily only, of whom the important member was a little child, 
EO many were its windows, so vast the extent of the whole 
building ; but I understood later better than I did then how 
much of traditionary importance attached itself to such a 
place, especially when it had been, as had Mallerdean 
Manor, for generations in the same family. 

The side entrance to which the gate-keeper had directed 
us was part of a very pretty wing of the old house. An 
answer to our summons came promptly, and we found our- 
selves in a square hallway, well lighted and home-like, the 
footman who admitted us taking the card away and return- 
ing in a few moments to ask my name. 

I felt somewhat fluttered as I wrote my name on the back 
of the card, and, at Sissy's suggestion, added Mrs. Bardis- 
ton’s address below. Sissy standing the while silent but with 
the utmost complacence in her manner. 

We were ushered into a small room at one side of this hall, 
a little book room or study it might have been, very bright 
and cheerful, although not particularly newly furnished. 
Some fishing paraphernalia was carelessly laid on one table 
and Sissy whispered to me that they probably belonged to 
young Mr. Germaine. 

“ For you know,” she said, in an impressive whisper, “ he 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


158 

is tremendously fond of out-door sports. Sir Henry, I 
suppose, may make him his heir if poor little Charlie shouldn’t 
live.” 

I felt a pang at my heart with the mere suggestion, but 
there was no time for further speculation. The rustle of 
stiff drapery in the hall, a little cough or “ ahem ” 
announced Mrs. Dewby’s approach, and the housekeeper 
appeared ; an imposing-looking old lady who, as Sissy 
described it afterwards, was “very affable.” 

It may be that what happened later makes the first 
impressions I received of Mallerdean as vivid as though 
painted on my mind in imperishable colors, yet I recall the 
sense of almost bewildered admiration with which I found 
myself following Mrs. Derby down a corridor through 
a heavy oaken door, and into the main hall, which in 
medieval days had been a banquet chamber, and 
which, lighted by stained glass windows, gorgeous in 
proportion and rich tapestried hangings, might at the 
present day, I fancied, have served its original purpose 
equally well. Above a huge fire-place, with chimney- 
piece of heavily carved black oak, was the portrait of i 
the first Charles Germaine, a noble-looking gentleman of 13 
the court of James I., and I fancied that it was easy to trace | 
in the fair hair, blue eyes, and frank young countenance 
some resemblance to Geoff Germaine, while Sissy, was cap- 
tivated with the splendor of the costume this ancestor of my"^ 
poor Charlie’s wore, and declared she could quite imagine | 
him pacing up and down this grand old hall, or perhapsi 
mounting the fine staircase at its lower end. On either side : 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


159 


doorways led into the “ state drawing-room," library, and its 
ante-chamber, all of which Mrs. Dewby displayed with a 
pardonable sort of pride, for they were certainly magnificent 
apartments, while the dining-room, with its lofty ceiling, 
old portraits, and side-board glittering with silver and glass, 
its windows opening from two sides on to the lawn, which 
was smooth as velvet and dotted with fine cedar trees, was 
the room Sissy had mentioned wherein four centuries ago 
Queen Elizabeth had trod a stately measure. Above, on 
ascending the grand staircase, Mrs. Dewby showed us the 
richly hung though rather solemn bedchamber in which her 
majesty had slept, and beyond this a suite of charming 
rooms including a boudoir which was like some old-fash- 
ioned picture. Every thing dainty and soft in color if a trifle 
faded, the windows hung with lace and pale yellow silk, the 
chairs, tables, writing-desk, and piano all of satin-wood, 
while the trifles, a variety of elegant ornaments and knic- 
knacs, were in the best taste and of the richest quality. I was 
interested enough to hear that these had been the rooms 
once occupied by Charlie’s sister. Across the hall and up 
and down various corridors, a dozen rooms were shown us, 
all richly furnished, but with the pathetic silence of a lonely 
household about them ; but the views from every window 
were enchanting, now taking in the old-fashioned, luxurious 
flower gardens, again some vista of the deeply wooded park, 
or it might be the meadow lands or the fertile clifi-bound 
country beyond which the blue waters of the bay were 
clearly to be seen. Silent, secluded as was ever castle in 
fairy lore, Mallerdean seemed to me like some enchanted bit 


i6o 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


of fairy land, instinct with all that was beautiful in life and 
nature, only needing the awakening touch of some happy 
hand to awaken it into its fullest possibility ! The long 
picture gallery in a wing of the newer building was a place 
where I would gladly have spent hours. Here were the 
various Germaines, the soldierly “ Charlies,” whom my little 
friend burned to emulate, and such a goodly collection of 
“fair women and brave men,” Germaines, Pauldings, Dow- 
lings, and even Lesleys, according to Mrs. Dewby’s account 
that I felt as though I were in some fine court company, while 
Sissy called my attention to the fact that my own somewhat 
peculiar type, the reddish brown hair, gray eyes, black brows, 
and lashes, which I have before itemized to my reader, was 
certainly repeated among the Dowlings pictured here, which 
no doubt accounted for Miss Lesley’s interest in my per- 
sonal appearance. 

But Charlie’s living rooms when he was here — where 
were they ? I felt so afraid of seeming to intrude upon Sir 
Henry that even to Mrs. Dewby I hesitated to ask a ques- 
tion which would seem to bring my friendship at the White 
House into prominence. So it was very satisfactory when, 
after studying the picture gallery, the housekeeper said, 
“Perhaps you would like to see young Master Charles’ 
room. Miss,” and I, well enough pleased, followed the old 
lady down a side corridor. Sissy lingering a moment longer 
among the painted presences — the gay looking court beau- 
ties whose smiling eyes and lips seemed to challenge our 
admiration and forbid our reflecting that they were long 
since “ dust to dust.” 


15 ? . 










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’ MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. i6i 

i 

I Mrs. Dewby opened a doorway which led into a small suite 

i of rooms. Yes, I recognized at once the objects Charlie had 
lovingly described. The first was a sort of school-room, 
lined on one side with book-shelves, comfortably cozy and 
homelike, with windows opening to the park, to glades 
which, cool and deep, softened all the vista, yet made the 
view on this June day rich and peaceful. Next came a little 
bedroom ; then what must have been his play-room, well 
stocked, and very bright and cheerful. 

I I was standing within it holding a little toy gun sadly in 
my hands, wondering when and how the high ambitions of 
the little life so dear to me would end, and it seemed impos- 
sible for an instant to check the tears that rose to my eyes. 
They blotted out all else for a moment. When the mist had 
been forced away and I trusted myself to lift my face, I saw 
that some one was standing in the adjoining room talking 
to Mrs. Dewby. 

The figure of a tall gentleman was somewhat in shadow, 
and yet I felt a queer spasm of familiarity with something 
about it as I looked — and wondered. Mrs. Dewby was 
making some sort of explanation, I think, in regard to our 
presence there. I heard an unfamiliar voice — deep-toned 
and kindly ; then her answer, “ Certainly, Sir Henry,” and 
the footsteps of the master of Mallerdean came nearer. I 
raised my eyes with a cry of dismay. For, feeling as if some- 
thing in the region of my heart was stifling me, I found 
myself face to face with my mother's enemy, — no other 
than Sir Henry Paulding ! 


CHAPTER XXI. 


SIR HENRY PAULDING. 

I HARDLY know how to describe the next few moments ! 

There he stood — Charlie’s beloved uncle — the hero of 
his stories, the preux chevalier whom my little friend com- 
pared joyously to those Germaines of soldierly renown, 
and yet — could it be possible ? Could he be the same per- 
son upon whom my mother had turned that cruel look of 
scorn ? of whom she, gentlest of women, had spoken as her 
enemy ? 

I stood still for an instant, feeling as if the objects in the 
cheerful little rooms, the stretches of verdant park and blue 
sky and sunlight without, were all rushing in a confusion of 
form and color before me. Meanwhile Sir Henry Paulding 
bowed somewhat stiffly, turned to say something to Mrs. 
Dewby, and walked away. 

Knowing nothing of my strange associations with her 
master Mrs. Dewby suspected nothing. If she observed my 
agitation she paid no attention to it, perhaps fancying that 
I was overawed by this sudden encounter with her master 
— an august personage, no doubt, in her eyes — and I was 
glad that Sissy’s keen glance and not over-delicate discrim- 
ination were not at hand. 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


163 


How I rejoined her, how I explained that I did not feel 
well, that I wanted to hurry home, I can scarcely tell. It 
seemed to me that I did not breathe freely until we were 
once more out upon the high road toward the town ; and 
there I had to stop and gasp nervously — for the park gates 
opened soon after we left them, a carriage whirled by, and 
I just caught a glimpse Sir Henry’s fine, pale countenance 
within it. 

“ Then he is going,” I exclaimed involuntarily. 

“ He ! who ? ” cried Sissy. 

“ Didn’t you see Sir Henry in the carriage ? ” said Cuth- 
bert. “ I suppose he’s off for the White House. Dear me ! 
isn’t that young Germaine lucky ? ” 

What was being said seemed to reach me in a kind of 
dream, to be recalled as having a meaning later, while the 
objects in the gay little town which we soon entered, the 
brilliancy of the setting sun, which always seemed to make 
the windows of the houses dotted along the beach road 
flash like jewels, even the music of the parade band which 
reached us softly from a distance, affected me oddly as 
though what was familiar in them all had suddenly grown 
strange ; and it was perhaps fortunate that I could truthfully 
say to Sissy I felt weak and sick, for without some such 
excuse my manner and my pale face must have betrayed 
the fact that something unusual had happened. Both she 
and Cuthbert were all kindness and consideration and 
would have done any thing or every thing for me on our 
reaching home, but I declared, and with perfect sincerity, 
that all I desired or needed was to lie down for a time by 


164 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


myself in my own room, and I made my escape up stairs, 
promising to come down to tea in half an hour. 

Once by myself, the need of keeping up being over, I 
flung myself upon my knees before my little bed and sobbed 
as though my heart would break. Utterly bewildered as I 
was, I could realize but one fact — that an end had come to 
all my happy times with Charlie ; that he would have to 
know something of the cause— that we would be compelled 
to say good-by, and my little friend and I would drift away 
from each other’s lives. What would mother say when I 
wrote her ? And why had she failed to recognize Sir 
Henry’s name ? 

I think I contrived to mingle some prayers for guidance 
in this unhappy business, with my tears, and at last I forced 
myself to dry my eyes> and laying aside my hat and jacket, 
I bathed my flushed face and sat down in the window to 
compose myself before going down to the Bardistons’ tea 
table. But the distant turrets, the tall trees, and richly 
verdant slopes of Mallerdean riveted my gaze. Yet, oh, 
with what a different point of view I now regarded them ! 
Only yesterday the sight of Charlie’s home, bathed in the 
rays of the setting sun, its windows gleaming and its wood- 
land vibrating with the evening glory cast about it, would 
have seemed to me the fairest picture my eyes had ever 
rested upon ; but now, alas, the grandeur of the old manor, 
the fairness of its park and gardens, seemed only added 
bitterness, for did it not all emphasize the fact that within 
those gates, within that doorway, lived the one person whom 
I had ever heard my mother speak of with contempt ! Yes, 


MV MOTHER* S EHEMY. 165 

it must be that I had seen the last of Mallerdean from 
within, for had she not called him “ her enemy ! " 

Tears began to rise again dangerously, and I started up 
to go down stairs, a chill of weariness, of annoyance at all 
this depressing mystery, making me, I fear, look very 
wretched as I entered the best parlor, where Mrs. Bardiston 
had a cozy tea spread, hot muffins and cakes giving fragrant 
odors and promise of dainty morsels to the hungry members 
of the party ; but I could only try to eat in silence, smiling 
feebly now and then at what the others were saying. 

Sissy had plunged into an account of the glories of 
Mallerdean, the “ affability ” of Mrs. Dewby, etc., etc., and 
did not at first hear a quick double knock on the front door ; 
but Hilda Goodwin had spied a carriage standing with- 
out, and Sissy’s narrative came quickly to a stand-still. 
We heard Susan’s tread going to the door ; some one was 
admitted, who went up stairs, and in a moment she appeared 
coming through the kitchen, saying, “ Sir Henry Paulding, 
ma’am — gone up-stairs to see the Admiral.” 

I felt the color flaming to my cheeks and bent my face 
down over my plate, but the rest of the party were so inter- 
ested in the mere fact of Sir Henry’s being in the house that 
my agitation passed unheeded, and for the next five minutes 
I heard nothing that was said around me. I sat there only 
conscious of every step or sound in the rooms above. 
Suddenly the Admiral’s bell was rung. Mrs. Bardiston 
called somewhat sharply to Susan, who answered quickly. 
She departed — I almost counted her steps going up — 
waited breathlessly as in a moment they came down, and 


i66 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


she appeared at the parlor door, with a broad smile in my 
direction saying, 

“ If you please. Miss Glenn, Sir Henry’s compliments, 
and he would be obliged if you would step up a moment to 
the drawing-room.” 

I started to my feet, not knowing for an instant what I 
ought to do or say ; but Sissy seemed ready almost to push 
me from the room. I heard Mrs. Bardiston exclaim, 

“ Well dear me ! what a strange thing. Sissy, see that 
Miss Helen’s sash is straight.” 

Then somehow, like a person in a dream, I found myself 
slowly mounting the stairs to the drawing-room. 

The door stood ajar. As I hesitated, a voice, very kind 
in tone, said, “ Come in,” and I entered. 

Sir Henry was standing near the chimney-piece gazing 
down thoughtfully into the fire. Much to my relief I saw 
at once that he was alone. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A REVELATION. 

M y heart was beating furiously as I advanced into the 
room, wondering what would happen next ; and 
although I felt sure that he must very cruel and unprin- 
cipled, or hard-hearted, or something dreadful to make 
mother regard him in such a light, it was a relief when he 
spoke, and I had to admit that his voice was gentle and 
kind. 

I decided to see you here, my dear,” Sir Henry was say- 
ing, “because I felt that you might talk tome more freely 
than you could at Mallerdean. To begin with, I want to 
thank you for your kindness to my poor boy.” 

He paused and held out his hand. 

“ Helen, you can not tell how much you have done for 
him — for that poor little fading life ! ” 

His manner was so entirely different from what I had 
expected — so frank in its kindness — that I hardly knew how 
to show him that I knew he was mother’s enemy, and with- 
out reflection I put my cold little fingers into his and mur- 
mured something rather polite, considering my sense of 
injured dignity. 

“You don’t seem to know me, Helen,” he continued. 


i68 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


looking at me very earnestly. Can it be possible that 
you have no idea who I am ? ” 

His eyes, piercing in spite of their friendliness, seemed to 
be commanding me to say all or whatever I knew concern- 
ing him. I was trembling with nervousness, and yet dared 
not disobey this quiet, commanding-looking man whom I 
wished — Oh how I wished ! — I could call our friend. The 
events of the day made it hard for me to keep the tears 
back as I answered, scarcely lifting my eyes : 

“You are — our enemy, I suppose.” 

A strange expression crossed Sir Henry Paulding’s face. 
I would have called it amusement had there not been some- 
thing so intensely mournful back of the smile which just 
rested on his lips for an instant. 

“ Poorxhild ! ” he said, softly, as though to himself. He 
paused a moment and then added aloud : 

“ Helen, I do not wish to be your enemy — or hers — I 
never was. But once I could not act as she thought just 
and right. But do you know the story ? ” 

I shook my head and could say nothing, but looked at 
him with a dilated, half-terrified glance. 

“You have heard nothing of it ? ” he exclaimed in evident 
astonishment. “ Has your mother never talked to you 
of her young days ? ” 

“Very little ; I know nothing but a few stories about her 
childhood.” 

He moved from the chimney-piece and walked rapidly 
toward the window, where, for an instant, he stood looking 
out, his hands tightly clasped at his back, while I was silent 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 169 

from something like a dread of what might come next. He 
turned, facing me suddenly. 

“ Do you mean to say,” he asked, “ that you were not 
aware of the fact that — I am your uncle as well as 
Charlie's?” 

The room seemed to be reeling around me, but I tried to 
draw nearer to him as I spoke. 

“ What ! ” I contrived to say, her brother ! and yet — 
Oh, Sir Henry — she — I — ” 

What could I do or say ! It seemed such a cruel case, 
and yet my mother must be right — she always had been — 
always was. 

When Sir Henry spoke again it was in a tone quiet and 
compassionate. 

“ I supposed,” he said, looking at me with great kindness 
in his glance, “ when I first heard of your being with 
Charlie that you knew of your relationship to him, but 
for some reason of your mother’s did not mention it. I am 
her step-brother. Since she left England, I inherited my 
present title, and had to take the name of Paulding with it, 
very unexpectedly, and through a series of deaths of which 
she has evidently never heard.” 

I made a little quick motion and Sir Henry continued, 
with a sad sort of smile : 

“ You are very fond of romances, I judge, Helen, from 
the stories Charlie has told me, but you must not imagine 
there are any connected with my change of name, or even 
my estrangement from your mother.” 

He turned back, gazing into the very depths of the fire 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


170 

and leaning his head on his hand. I was only a child in 
years, but I felt my heart ache as I watched Sir Henry’s 
careworn face half averted, yet showing plainly lines of 
what seemed to me to mean loneliness of life — of very heart 
itself. He raised his face and continued : 

“ Bitter facts — sad, hard truths — cost us our friendship, 
for we were friends as well as brother and sister. There 
seem to me, however, strong reasons now why you should 
hear the story — something may have to be settled in regard 
to your future, and I wish you to know,” he smiled, “the 
very worst of your uncle.” 

I was compelled to say over and again to myself that he 
must be very unkind in reality ; for his manner was so gen- 
tle, and his face looked so full of a certain high nobility as 
he spoke, that it was impossible to believe him deliberately 
cruel. I thought of the Cavalier Germaine, whose portrait 
hung in the western end of the gallery at Mallerdean. 
Something in the two faces expressed the same fine pur- 
pose, the same sort of honest loyalty which I had believed 
Charlie’s uncle possessed, yet which I could not, must not 
associate with one whom my mother despised. 

Sir Henry continued : 

“ The Lesleys, who are related to your mother through 
the Dowlings (when you hear the story, you will under- 
stand the double connection in our family), know only that 
you are my niece, and are a guest of Miss Bayard’s. I do 
not think they are aware of all the peculiar circumstances 
of your mother’s last year in England and her departure 
from home, so that when you meet them you need not feel 


AfV MOTHER'S EHEMY. 


171 

any special constraint. It is better to tell the people of the 
house what you have discovered, since your mother left you 
in a certain sense in their care, and when you go back to 
Britton-Marsh tell Miss Bayard from me that I desire her 
earnestly to tell you the whole story. Say to her to express 
whatever her opinion of me may have been or is." 

I raised my eyes now eagerly enough. 

“ Miss Bayard says," I began — and broke off, coloring, 
lest Miss Bayard would not like her opinion quoted. 

Sir Henry smiled. 

“ Never mind, my dear," he said, with decided good- 
humor, if not amusement, in his tone, “ we will not mind 
what Miss Bayard says or thinks. Only tell her that I am 
willing to trust my good name, so far as my strange little 
niece is concerned, in her hands. I am obliged to go to 
London to-night, but will be back at the White House very 
soon. Meanwhile, Helen, write to your mother all that has 
occurred. I have explained the matter satisfactorily to the 
Lesleys, who remember your mother very well." 

I felt a sudden sense of resentment at the idea that moth- 
er’s affairs were so completely taken out of her own 
hands, as it were, and when Sir Henry made a movement as 
though he would have kissed me good-by, I involuntarily 
shrank from the salutation, and he turned away, while, in 
some fashion intended to be polite, I said good-by, managed 
to escape from the room and reached the little parlor, 
where, as may well be imagined, I found the Bardistons in 
a state of extreme impatience and suppressed excite- 


ment. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


I SURPRISE THE BARDISTONS. 


HE effect of my startling piece of news was to cause 



A Mrs. Bardiston to drop into the nearest chair and 
Sissy to give a little scream which, with a sudden look at 
the ceiling, she suppressed. Cuthbert was the only one of 
the party who took it philosophically. 

“ I always thought something would come of all this,” he 
remarked, and Mrs. Bardiston and Sissy turned their eyes 
immediately upon him as though he had been keeping back 
a piece of intelligence from all of us. 

“Your uncle, is he?” said Sissy, and in an instant she 
added with a little mournful reflection, “ Oh, Helen, then 
that is the end of every thing.” 

For with the traditions of her people and her class Sissy 
realized the gulf socially that might be made to exist be- 
tween Mallerdean and the family at Victoria Lodge, as the 
Bardistons had called their present home. 

I laughed. 

“ I don’t believe it will end any thing at all,” I answered. 
“ And even if my mother were to so much as visit Mailer- 
dean itself, would not that bring me nearer to you. Sissy ? ” 

But Sissy shook her head. 

“ No, my dear,” she said, very sagely. “ It is not to be 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


173 


1 thought of for an instant, and of course we’d have to accept 
; the position.” 

I verily believe the romantic side of it appealed to her so 
strongly that she was quite willing to “ accept ” whatever 
would be involved. My possibilities in the future were de- 
cidedly interesting to her, and it was amusing to see how 
quickly she began to plan for all that might, would, could 
! or should happen in the event of Sir Henry’s inviting my 
' mother and me to stay with him at the old manor house 
I whose glories we had so lately discussed. 

“But how did it happen,” inquired Mrs. Bardiston, 
“ that you never heard of this from your mother ? ” 

I explained briefly that there had been some family 
trouble, but added that I did not know the details of the 
story myself ; and Sissy remarked solemnly that “ there 
always were those difflculties in the families of the great,” 
and Mrs. Bardiston was reminded of something which had 
occurred when she and her sister Maria were girls at Bath, 
and with a tone of great importance she related a story 
melodramatic in its details and in which a long-lost heir was 
discovered in the son of a pot-boy in the George Inn, 
etc. ; but I am afraid that we young people were not par- 
ticularly attentive listeners, for Sissy and I had a great deal 
we longed to say to each other on this exciting topic, and 
when the shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Bardiston darted out to 
attend to her customer, we plunged at once into a talk such 
as only girls of our age and enthusiastic temperament could 
carry on. But an excited little whisper, “ There he goes! ” 
from Cuthbert in the window, brought us to his side, and we 


174 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


watched Sir Henry’s departure in the fine carriage, after 
which Mrs. Bardiston, who had returned and appeared to 
feel that something unusual might be expected on such an 
occasion, inquired what we would prefer for supper. 

“ I think we might have chops as well as a bit of fish,” 
she said, entering into these domestic details so heartily that 
it was hard to believe that she was the same elegant “ fine 
lady,” who had appeared to rule Albert Villa indifferent to 
every thing in the kitchen department. Sissy was about 
asking me whether I would like to accompany her to the 
market close by for these delicacies, which were a tribute to 
my “greatness,” when she hesitated, remembering, no 
doubt, that I was now to be regarded as Sir Henry Pauld- 
ing’s niece ! So I laughingly took the matter out of her 
hands, put my things on, and we were soon out in the foggy 
twilight speeding up a narrow little street where various 
tempting litttle delicacies were to be had. I certainly felt 
no sense of superiority over Sissy since the afternoon, and 
yet I could not help wondering whether I would ever have 
any thing to do with Mallerdean — the historic old house 
whose long corridors, stained glass and fascinating galleries 
seemed now to haunt me with something stronger in their 
personality. Had my mother ever been there — would she 
ever come again — would Charlie and I — possibly the de- 
lightful Geoff — ever spend summer days in the cool, sweet 
depths of that park ? I wondered, and my heart beat per- 
haps a trifle faster as Sissy and I did our shopping ; but it 
was only the picturesque side of it all, I am sure, which ap- 
pealed to me, although, as Sissy confessed later, she already 


MV MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


175 


pictured me in “satins and laces sweeping up and down the 
grand staircase,” which we had mounted like a pair of shy 
mice earlier in the day ! 

We went back down the hilly little street, Sissy doing jus- 
tice to her novel-reading by the way in which she spoke of 
me as the possible “ Mistress of Mallerdean but so ro- 
mantic were her suggestions that I declared I would take the 
little market-basket out of her hands if she went on, as she 
would certainly upset its contents ! 

“ Oh Helen,” said Sissy, with much disappointment in tone 
and manner, “ I do believe you will always be just prac- 
tical. But that may turn out better for me in the end,” she 
added. “ For when you are at Mallerdean in years to come 
perhaps you won’t look down upon me.” 

We certainly had a very cozy little supper party, Mrs. 
Bardiston treating me with unlimited respect, and when 
about nine o’clock word from Miss Lesley came down to 
inquire whether Miss Glenn could see them in the morning 
before her departure, the final touch was given to my host- 
ess’s satisfaction. 

But long after Sissy, whose head had been so full of grand 
possibilities, was asleep, I lay awake in the cot placed for me 
in her room, thinking and thinking of the deeper meanings 
in all Sir Henry had had to say ; thinking of the estrange- 
ment which certainly had embittered some hours of his life 
and had separated my mother from her kinsfork. And 
what would Miss Bayard’s story be, I wondered ? 

Just outside of my little window I could see a glimmer 
of the ocean and the rock- bound shore beyond, which, in 


176 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


daylight, I knew the towers of Mallerdean were visible, and 
above which the summer sky was throbbing with starlight 
that looked friendly, and encouraging me to gentle thoughts 
of the place and people with whom my mother’s early life 
must have been associated. But it was hard to wait for the 
morning and my return to Britton-Marsh. 

I slept soundly. Youth has at least this panacea for all 
excitement, and in the morning I had to force myself into 
a belief that the events of the previous day were facts, not 
visions in dreamland ; but on going down to the shop par- 
lor for breakfast I had every proof in the reality of what 
had taken place, in the deferential manner with which Mrs. 
Bardiston, Sissy, and Susan treated me, Cuthbert alone 
maintaining his previous air of bon ca^narderie^ while the little 
Goodwins seemed only impressed by the fact that some- 
thing very delightful and agreeably exciting had taken 
place. 

The best parlor was given up to me, there to await my 
call from the Lesleys ; but before quitting the room Sissy 
indulged in a great deal of fun over the change she was 
sure I would find in the young ladies’ manner towards me, 
and begged that I would be “ as airish as possible.” 

But to tell the truth I was in too agitated a frame of 
mind over the thought of what Miss Bayard might have to 
tell me to feel much interest in any such question, and 
when Susan opened the door to announce “ Admiral and 
the Miss Lesleys,” and the family party were ushered in, I 
was conscious of no special embarrassment, but only 
decided stupidity. ' Sissy, however, would have been 


A/y MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


177 


delighted had she been present. Sir Henry, who was only 
their second cousin, must have spoken in warm terms of 
I me, for both the Miss Lesleys advanced with a smiling, if 
not with actually an effusive manner, and kissed me 
affectionately while they presented me to their father, a 
stout, red-faced little gentleman with a gruff but not 
’ unkindly manner. 

j What did you mean, by not introducing yourself to us 
‘yesterday?” Miss Lesley said, when we were all seated; 
‘‘ of course I see now that you are a real Dowling.” 

I laughed and answered that I never heard the name 
i until I came to England ; and I could not resist a temptation 
i to shock my visitors by saying, 

“ Mother always seemed more interested in her American 
associations.” 

i “ Dear me, you don’t say so,” said Miss Ethel, scrutinizing 
me closely, “ How very odd ! ” While Miss Lesley 
;murmured, “ Only fancy,” and the Admiral asked for my 
mother, much as though they had parted a week before 
and then giving his stick a little thump on the parlor floor 
exclaimed, 

' “ God bless my soul ! how much she is like her uncle.” 

; And when his daughters glanced at him in surprise, the 
old gentleman continued : 

“ I am not talking of Henry ; I mean Allan.” 

And there rose suddenly to my mind a vision of that bit 
jof gorse-covered down in Surrey, upon which I had gazed 
with my mother — how long ago it seemed — and where she and 
['“Allan” had gone out holiday-making, in the time which 


178 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


she appeared to have been trying to blot out from her 
remembrance. 

The Lesleys plied me with questions which I answered 
in as non-committal a fashion as possible, but I am sure 
they intended to be friendly and polite, although it certainly 
seemed to me as though Ethel had the bump of inquisi- 
tiveness developed to an extraordinary degree ; but the 
visit was ended at last ; when the good-byes were exchanged, 
I was assured that my new cousins would call upon me at 
Little-Britton House, and also that they expected to meet 
me at Mallerdean. But I fear that they must have parted 
from me with the impression that I was a very dull and 
undemonstrative girl, for how could they know that I was 
absorbed in the one idea of getting back to Britton-Marsh, 
and Miss Bayard ? Cuthbert, on his way to school earlier 
in the day, had left a note for me, announcing my intention 
to return at once, and when, after an exciting farewell to 
the Bardistons, I found myself about mid-day at the Britton- 
Marsh station, I was delighted that Miss Bayard herself had 
come to meet me. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A STRANGE HISTORY. 

II TISS BAYARD, I am sure, guessed in an instant from my 

A face that something important had happened ; but, 
singular to say, when, seated at her side in the carriage, my 
hand tightly clasped in hers, I tried to tell my story, she did 
not seem at all surprised. 

“ I thought it would come about sooner or later,” she 
said to me very gently ; “ and to tell you the truth, Helen, 
I believed that good would result from it, and so encour- 
aged your friendship with Charlie Germaine ; but — yes,” she 
turned her gaze from mine absently fora moment. “Yes, 
he is right, the story must be told to you. I will take the 
responsibility of it upon myself, for I am sure were your 
mother here it is what she would wish.” 

No more was said until we reached Little Britton House, 
when I flew to tell Martha my surprising discovery — and 
realized that she had been in whatever little plot there was 
to make me known to my mother’s relatives. 

“ When did you know it, Martha ? ” I exclaimed, sitting 
in the window of her pleasant room, whence I could see 
the White House, with its many windows, beyond the lawn 
and oak trees across the road. A mist had risen, and rain 


l8o MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 

looked imminent, but as yet the outline of dear Charlie’s 
home was not obscured. 

“ Why, as soon as the accident happened,” said Martha, 
“ but Miss Bayard said at once that we were not to speak 
of it, but we both agreed that something good would come 
of this association ; and indeed, my dear, many a day when 
I’ve watched you going over there to keep the poor little 
lad company, I’ve waited impatiently enough for your re- 
turn, with news that you'd met your uncle.” 

I was thankful that the day was rainy, and what Britton- 
Marsh people would call cloudy and disagreeable, for there 
would be less danger that, in our long talk after dinner. 
Miss Bayard would be interrupted by callers. She looked 
pale and weary, and I was glad that she settled herself 
comfortably upon her sofa, while I seated myself on an otto- 
man by her side in the garden window, much as I had sat 
by dear old Miss Vail, when I heard the first bit of Miss 
Bayard’s own history. She held a packet of old letters 
and some photographs in her hand, which, when the time 
came, she showed me, but, before beginning the story, said 
very impressively, 

“ Remember, Helen, that I want you to judge of all this, 
bearing in mind that your mother believes herself to be 
strongly in the right, and that it is on this conviction 
only that she has taken her present course.” 

“ I know that, dear Miss Bayard,” I answered, but why 
did I not understand ? Why did you not tell me he was 
our enemy ? ” 

“ My dear,” she said quickly, “ it was so much better to 


MV MOTHER* S ENEMY. i8l 

let the event take its natural course — nay, let me rather say. 
to leave Providence to work out His will. Of course I ap- 
preciate your mother’s feelings, and at one time no one 
shared them so strongly as myself. But, Helen, as we grow 
older, as our world narrows, we not only become more 
lenient in our judgments, but I think more just. The fires 
of youth burn so strong that they are apt, if we feed 
them, to leave us nothing but ashes. I am not sure now 
even how much your mother’s prejudice is the result of 
her accustoming herself to believe hardly of Sir Henry. 
But you shall hear the story; and, as you know nothing of 
your mother’s English life, I will begin pretty far back 
with my own first recollection of the Merrivale family. 
Your grandfather was Squire Marsh, a fine specimen of 
the old-fashioned country gentleman, but who lived in an 
improvident, free-handed, careless way, like many of his 
class, in the house where he and his father before him had 
been born and brought up. The place was called “ Merri- 
vale,” and was near a small village some five miles beyond 
Hilford. The Marshes were old friends of ours ; and it was 
when I was quite a little girl that my cousin, a widow lady, 
took me for the first time to visit your mother. How well 
I remember her ! The prettiest, sweetest, merriest little 
creature, absolutely devoted to her one brother Allan. 
We three spent a long, delightful summer day laying the 
foundation of a friendship which, I fancied, time nor change 
would ever influence, and I returned to my own home de- 
lighted with the Merrivales, and only anxious for a new 
occasion to renew my intercourse with them. The friend- 


i 82 


MY MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


ship prospered. Your grandfather came frequently to our 
house, and often brought his little daughter with him, 
while during the school-holidays, Allan sometimes accom- 
panied them, and in return I spent some of the happiest 
hours of my life at the Squire’s place. It seems to me, 
even with all my present experience, that Allan Marsh was 
the most charming boy in many ways I have ever known, 
and, unlike most very handsome petted young fellows who 
are accustomed to see the world at their feet, he was curi- 
^ously unselfish, while his devotion to your mother had in it 
the tenderness of a woman and the chivalry of a man. And, 
Helen, it was fortunate that this was the case, for other- 
wise I fear your mother, as she grew into girlhood, would 
not have been happy in her home. She was warm-hearted, 
impulsive, and ardent in temperament. There had been no 
gentle guiding hand, no mother’s influence, since she could 
remember, to help the young nature to bear with the harsh 
discipline put on it, and I am sure that but for her brother 
Allan she would often have been very miserable. Her father 
was good-humored and easy-going, ready enough with 
kind words and promises, but he thought little of his chil- 
dren’s comfort or real well being, and they grew up not only 
knowing nothing of the ease and luxury which he contrived 
to get for himself, but with no sort of training with which 
to face the world. Allan was taught nothing useful ; your 
mother was offered none of the solid comforts of home 
life, which make of the young girl a happy and contented 
woman, so that you can fancy how the pair clung to each 
other in a household gradually becoming more and more 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


183 


comfortless in spite of its master’s extravagance, and 
wherein there was little or no thought of the young lives and 
natures developing day by day, growing into man’s and 
woman’s estate. 

“ It was, I think, about this time that the Squire’s visits to 
my cousin became more frequent, and one winter’s day, 
which I remember very distinctly, on going to her house 
I found my co'usin Henry — your uncle — in the library, look- 
ing, as I saw at once, singularly unhappy. He was older 
than either of the young Marshes with whom his family 
were connected — at this time, I believe, about four-and- 
twenty, and was regarded by all the kith and kin as a 
remarkably fine, high-spirited, and promising young 
man. But he was the last person to accept with equanim- 
ity the fact that his mother had just consented to marry 
Squire Marsh. 

“ ‘ Of course, I suppose,’ he said to me that day when I 
tried to congratulate him on what, in my eyes, seemed a 
delightful connection, ‘ I have no right to interfere with 
whatever she sees fit to do, but I have my sister’s interest 
to consider, and I have been doing my best to induce my 
mother to settle a certain sum of money upon Muriel.’ 

“ I was surprised by the way in which he spoke, because I 
fancied he had always been extremely fond of the Marshes; 
when he was a mere boy, he had spent many a day at 
Merrivale, and no doubt it was on one such occasion that he 
and Allan took your mother on the donkey across Hilford 
Downs, just as .she told you ; but, as I have said, Henry’s 
whole temperament was opposed to the Squire’s methods of 


184 


MV MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


life. He was impetuous enough, as I have every reason to 
know, and, I believe, very deep in feeling ; but while he was 
ready enough to be generous in the right way, extravagance 
appeared to him little less than sinful, and it was impossi- 
ble for him to understand how any right-minded man could 
spend money when he was like the Squire, up to his ears in 
debt. The marriage, however, took place, and Harry, as we 
then called your step-uncle, came into your grandfather’s 
family with a sort of boyish determination to set business 
matters straight, and, above all things, to turn Allan into a 
business man. Allan was really, I have always felt con- 
fident, the soul of honor, but he had no natural aptitude for 
any of the duties or employments which Harry regarded as 
vital ih life, and from the very start your mother, who was 
then but little over sixteen, seemed to regard her step- 
brother as unnecessarily severe, although I am certain that 
at heart each appreciated the other’s good qualities and 
loved each other very truly. But Henry was galled by 
the fact that the Merrivale household knew nothing of the 
discipline of life — that the young people seemed bent only 
on enjoying the freedom which their growing years and the 
fact that the Squire had more money at his command gave, 
while even in Allan’s popularity in the county the older 
brother seemed to see coming danger and strove in every 
way to make Allan appreciate the necessity of entering some 
useful business or learning some profession whereby he 
might earn his living. Finding it hard work to impress any 
of these ideas upon the gay, light-hearted, sunny-tempered 
young man, Harry started off to London, where he set up a 


MV MOTHERS S ENEMY, 185 

Studio for himself, working unceasingly at the art which he 
had then decided to make his profession.” 

My hands clasping Miss Bayard’s, involuntarily closed 
tighter upon it, for it flashed upon my mind that my newly 
found uncle, Sir Henry Paulding, might have been the artist 
who figured in my mind so exasperatingly in the work-box 
story, but I said nothing, and Miss Bayard continued, after 
a slight pause, 

“ Allan, who was always good-humored and charming in 
manner, laughed at Henry for his attention to work ; but I 
firmly believe that the older brother resolved to set Allan an 
example by his perseverance, and .although he had not any 
very special talent for his work, certainly no genius, he be- 
came fairly successful. The question of the Paulding in- 
heritance was then so remote that it never arose in any dis- 
cussion as to the future of the family, Henry’s only moneyed 
interest being the bank at Hilford. Domestic matters at Mer- 
rivale were none too pleasant, I fancy ; for, although my 
cousin, the new Mrs. Marsh, was an excellent woman at 
heart, she was never satisfied with her marriage, and was, I 
fear, too stern in her treatment of her husband’s children. 
It may have been for this reason that Henry, coming down 
to Merrivale one autumn, induced Allan to take a place in 
the Hilford bank, where, if he proved himself worthy, he 
would be sure of promotion. 

“ You must bear in mind, my dear, that at this time, as I 
said, your mother’s chief happiness in life was derived from 
Allan’s tenderness and goodness to her. Her father died, 
she and her step-mother were not particularly congenial, 


i86 


MV MOTHER’S ENEMY. 


and I have always felt that my aunt was over-harsh to the 
young girl ; but Allan certainly never lost an opportunity 
of brightening his sister’s existence, and the two, I under- 
stand, planned together that as soon as he should earn 
enough they would start out, beginning their lives and for- 
tunes in some of the colonies. 

“ Just at this time I saw very little of them. My home 
was then some miles from Merrivale and Hilford. I had 
already had some misunderstandings with Harry on the 
score of his sternness toward his young step-brother — mis- 
understandings which led, as such are apt to do among 
foolish young people, to others, and my attempts to set 
matters straight had come to nothing. Thus our positions 
toward each other remained, when suddenly a dreadful 
piece of news reached us from Hilford. 

“ A forged check for a large amount had been presented 
at the bank. The signature was accepted as that of Henry 
Marsh, but he at once rushed down to Hilford denying 
that he had ever seen the check, and it then appeared 
that Allan was the one who had presented it. 

Allan was not in the bank at that hour. He was found 
by Henry with your mother at Merrivale, planning for their 
departure for Australia, and later your mother insisted that 
he said Henry’s liberality was to help this scheme — a state- 
ment that you will perceive told much against him, for 
Henry at once accused his brother of having forged his 
name. Many — or, I should say a few — of those who be- 
lieved in Allan’s guilt — considered what followed to be a 
visitation of Providence. Allan had in reality long been 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


187 


threatened with paralysis, but as soon as he seemed to re- 
alize what his brother’s words meant he fell at his feet in 
an attack such as had been dreaded, and, although he lived 
two weeks longer, and was at moments partially conscious, 
he never recovered the power of speech, and died offering 
no explanation of what all who knew of it — except your 
mother and myself — were sure was a deliberate forgery. 

“ Your mother tried in vain to induce Sir Henry to 
declare that he believed Allan innocent of the crime, and 
when this was impossible she withdrew from Merrivale 
associations and soon after married an American gentle- 
man — your father — with whom she sailed at once for the 
States, and thenceforward resolutely declined any commun- 
ication with her half-brother. So you see it came about 
that when all the important changes in the Paulding family 
began to take place she heard nothing of them ; and as, I 
believe, for some years your father was in business in the 
far West, the intercourse grew less and less, and it was years 
since I had heard any thing of her, although I had no idea 
she was in ignorance of her half-brother’s coming into the 
title. I need not go into all the details which separated my 
own family from his, but I see now, my dear — as we grow 
older we see things so much more simply — that self-will or 
an exaggeration of trifles had a great deal to do with it all. 
Henry Paulding is a man of inflexible will, and I am sure,” 
said Miss Bayard, sadly, that he considers himself in the 
right ; and that his heart was somewhat hardened by your 
mother’s refusal to have any communication with him or 
accept help from him after her brother’s death. Now that 


i88 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


she has struggled through so many years alone, and that, 
as I say, time has made us wiser and perhaps simpler in our 
ideas of things, I have thought that perhaps a truce might 
be effected, and so I let you go to see Charlie Germaine at 
least to make an experiment. But I never thought of your 
meeting. your uncle in this unexpected fashion.” 

Every thing taken together had made me feel intensely 
sorrowful, and I put my head down on Miss Bayard’s knee 
and cried pitifully when she had ceased speaking. It was 
all in such an unhappy jumble in my mind. The accusa- 
tion against the uncle whom I had never seen seemed only 
like a fable ; the cruel separation it might involve from 
my cousin Charlie : the meeting with my uncle after all I 
had heard in his favor and knowing that he was the one 
mother had called her enemy — all of these things seemed 
to whirl before my mental vision in a miserable sort of mist, 
and my tears flowed more freely even when I realized that 
it might be that I should see Charlie no more ! 

What would be said to him about it all ? I could not 
help thinking. Why was fate or circumstances, — why were 
people’s dispositions so unfortunate ! But of course I felt 
indignant that my uncle could think so cruelly of one whom 
Miss Bayard and my mother loved and believed to be 
above reproach. 

“ I don’t know what else to say about it, my dear,” said my 
hostess’s voice presently, and I felt her hand gently stroking 
my hair. “ These family feuds or misunderstandings with 
friends are dreadful things. The estrangements they make 
are worse than death.” 


2l/V MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


189 


I can recall Miss Bayard’s voice sounding through the 
dusk of the drawing-room as though I had listened to it 
but yesterday — nay, as though its kindly tones were upon 
my ears at this moment. 

“Worse than death,” she continued, thoughtfully, as 
though forgetful of my presence. “ Yes, indeed, when one 
whom we love dies, goes from us into the hands of Christ 
Himself, into the tenderest of all keeping, we know that the 
friendship, so much to us, is safe forever — kept for us until 
we can renew it once again. But these worldly estrange- 
ments ! Our friend leaves us for some cruel misunder- 
standing and goes away, and the parting is worse than any 
death. Somewhere we know on the face of the earth he 
lives : he moves, and looks, and speaks with others, but the 
words are not for us to hear, the face is not for us to see.” 

I cried again, and felt that the world which could con- 
tain such sadness was a very different place from what it 
had seemed to me a day or two before, when Charlie and I 
were such very happy friends, with no thought of family 
enmities to come between us. Altogether I believe it was 
the most sorrowful evening of my life ; and long after I 
went to bed dear Miss Bayard came into my room to look 
at me and see whether I had regained any sort of compos- 
ure, but I was lying in the little dimity-hung couch with 
my eyes fixed upon the light shining redly in Charlie’s 
window, vowing and declaring to myself that never, never 
as long as I lived, would I quarrel with any one whom I 
loved, never let any thing like a “ rift within the lute ” 
come into what might be the harmony of my existence. 


190 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Alas ! We make such vows when we are young, and I was 
young to experience suddenly the result of the trouble 
which had come through estrangements and misunder- 
standings in my mother’s life. All that I felt was the con- 
sequence of my uncle’s severity and my mother’s outraged 
feelings, and the knowledge — more actual than it all — that 
Charlie was my dearest friend. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


ANNIE ROSS. 

T AROSE the next morning with a sad consciousness that 
A something very pitiful had come in upon my life, and as 
I dressed and went down to the breakfast room, all that 
had happened the last day or two grew clearer to my 
mental vision, and I prepared myself heroically to write 
a long letter to my mother, but feeling certain that it would 
do no good, only hasten our return to America and com- 
plete the estrangement with my newly found relations and 
friends. Miss Bayard, after our long talk, had decided that I 
must wait for an answer from my mother before renewing 
my visits to the White House, but, lest Charlie should 
misunderstand it and be unhappy, as soon as my letter to 
Russia was despatched, I wrote him a little note, simply 
explaining that I would see him as soon as possible and 
that for the present he must understand why I stayed away. 
I can not express what it cost to write the words, for I 
firmly believed they were equivalent to a farewell. 

The day passed mournfully enough, although Miss Bayard 
strove to interest me in every thing, and I really enjoyed 
going with her to call upon old Lady Dowling, who had 
heard of my discovgry, and, with her fondness for any 


192 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


novelty or excitement, made me very welcome. But it 
seemed hard enough for me, to be among those mysterious 
and formerly unknown relatives of my mother ; and when 
Lady Dowling led me to a window to the better observe 
what the Miss Lesleys had called my “ Dowling look,” I 
was greatly amused by her declaring me “ every inch a 
genuine English girl,” when I so prided myself on my 
“ genuine Americanness.” However, it was certainly very 
pleasant to be received as a welcome guest in this interest- 
ing old house, and presently Miss Ross, her lady-ship’s 
companion, was sent for to take me out into the old Queen 
Anne Gardens, where her ladyship said that my mother had 
spent many an hour in her childish days. 

I tried to fancy her as I paced up and down the trim 
walks with Annie Ross, who was, I found, a distant connection 
of the family and an exceedingly pleasant girl, although, as I 
suspected, rather “ put upon ” by Lady Dowling. I pictured 
the pretty, graceful little maiden whose face and figure, 
in the old daguerreotype Miss Bayard had shown me yester- 
day, were clear to my mind, the original being my dear mother 
when she was about my own age, and I thought of all the 
loneliness and misery which had darkened her young life, 
and, in spite of the kindness in his look and voice, I am 
afraid it made me steel my heart against Sir Henry. 
Meanwhile Annie Ross plied me with questions about 
America, which was the Ultirne Thule of her ambition. 

“ I have a cousin out there,” she explained, leading the 
way toward the yew walk and the pond, about which Sissy 
had told me the family ghost story, “ and he has promised 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


193 


as soon as possible to send for me. He thinks he can find 
me something to do in a school.” 

“Why,” I exclaimed, with a glance at the old manor house 
behind us, its windows twinkling in the sunshine and its 
noble proportions seeming all that could be desired for a 
home — “ why in the world do you want to go away from 
here ? Of course America is the nicest place to live in, but 
to go there — a stranger — ” 

Annie Ross smiled a little sadly. 

“You see,” she said quietly, “ there are so many of us at 
home that the older ones must begin to make their way. 
Of course it was very good of Lady Dowling to bring me 
here, but — I don’t earn any thing besides my board and 
clothes, and I must soon be thinking of the younger ones.” 

“ And don’t you live here — I mean at Britton-Marsh ? ” I 
questioned. Accustomed as I was to American ways of 
thinking and working, a position of peculiar dependence 
and occupation like this of Annie Ross was mysterious to 
me. 

“ Oh no,” she answered quickly ; “ my father is a clergy- 
man near Hilford. There are eight of us, and I am next to 
the oldest. There is so much to be thought of when a large 
family has to be considered,” and Annie sighed, her sweet, 
fair face, with something about it which reminded me of 
my mother, shadowed by the thought of all that might lie in 
the future for her young brothers and sisters and herself. 
But interested as I was in our talk and the chance of what 
might prove a pleasant friendship, I little thought of what 
might bring me to see the struggling household— the hard- 


194 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


worked father and little band of sons and daughters she 
described ! 

If Lady Dowling had been allowed her way, she would 
very quickly have set matters straight between my mother 
and her step-brother, Sir Henry Paulding, but Miss Bayard 
influenced her to take no steps in the matter for the present, 
explaining that I had written promptly, and that within a 
fortnight certainly we might expect an answer to my letter. 

After this eventful two days we settled down to our old 
routine in Miss Bayard’s house, and mention was seldom 
made of my Uncle Paulding or of any of his family. But 
Martha, who had been bitterly disappointed by the dis- 
astrous ending of her plans for re-uniting the family, con- 
trived, I discovered, to make friends with the gardener’s 
wife at the White House in order to keep herself informed 
of every thing that went on there, and one night tapped at 
Miss Bayard’s door while the hair-brushing was going on, 
and as soon as Jane was dismissed told us that Charlie hadj 
gone down to Mallerdean with Miss Nettleship that after-^ 
noon, the Misses Lesley and the old Admiral still being atj 
Britton Bay and supposed to show Charlie every attention! 
in Sir Henry’s enforced absence in London. a 

But for a feeling that I had my mother’s dignity to main-'l 
tain, I verily believe I would have run off secretly to pay*^ 
a visit to my poor little cousin, and I used to stand at the] 
window thinking how lonely the pink and gray room be- 
yond the galleried porch must look without the little figure 
on the sofa, and how, even at Mallerdean, the days might 
be slowly going by with no one but the prim Misses Lesley 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY . 195 

to amuse or divert his thoughts from himself. I was stand- 
ing thus, I remember, late one afternoon, when I saw hur- 
rying up the road behind Miss Bayard’s garden the stable- 
boy from my uncle’s, and I felt so sure that he had some 
message for me that I ran down the back way and met him 
in the garden myself. It was just as I thought. He had 
a note from my poor Charlie, and I opened it then and 
there, regardless. of the east wind blowing about me, while 
I read as follows : 

Mallerdean, Nov. 20, . 

Dear Helen : I miss you so dreadfully, but Uncle 
Harry says that you are to come when you choose. He 
can’t ask you. I know now that you are my cousin, and I 
am so glad, and I wish that your mother and 'Uncle Harry 
had not had some unlucky quarrel, whatever it was. But, 
dear Helen, let us try to keep good friends. I am not at 
all as well as I used to be, and we’re to go abroad for 
my health as soon as I’m well enough to travel. Don’t 
forget that you promised to come and see me when 
you opened the box of amethysts on your birthday. Do 
come. Peter is going to take this to the White House and 
will bring me back your answer. Your loving cousin, 

Charlie. 

Poor boy ! My tears fell fast upon the note-paper while 
I stood there reading. As soon as he was well enough to 
travel ! Alas ! I knew from what I had heard the doctors 
say that poor Charlie’s traveling days were over. I was not 
afraid they would take him abroad before I saw him once 
again. 


196 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


I told Peter, the stable-boy, to wait a minute, and I wrote 
the most affectionate kind of a letter to Charlie, telling him 
that I supposed my mother had to feel as she did, and that of 
course I had to feel that way too, but that he and I must 
always be the best of friends, and that if we ever had any 
kind of a disagreement we must make it right up quickly 
before it grew any bigger, and, as well as I could remember 
her words, I wrote down what Miss Bayard had said about 
people separating here upon earth and losing each other 
so completely. It was a comfort, I suppose, to communi- 
cate with him even in this fashion ; and so I went on to tell 
him that I knew my mother had really loved her brother 
very, very much indeed, and had needed him often and 
often, and how much comfort he and she might have been 
to each other ; and I said to Charlie that even if we did not 
meet we could think of each other and never be any thing 
but the best of friends. I told him that I would think up 
ever so many new stories, and that if it were possible I would 
let him know at least when my birthday came and I had 
opened the box of amethysts. I signed my name, sending 
him my dearest, dearest love, and I am sure he must have 
seen the marks of my tears on the paper. 

For some days after this no direct tidings from Charlie 
reached me, but I knew that he was very ill. Peter went 
back and forth occasionally between Mallerdean and the 
White House, and brought Martha information of my little 
cousin’s failing strength which grieved me so that I am 
afraid that I was a very forlorn and useless member of the 
household. But Miss Bayard understood it all, and I never 


Afy MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


197 


can forget her quiet sympathy and kindness, nor her for- 
bearance with the depression which I fear I did not take 
sufficient pains to conceal. But my pleasure may well be 
imagined when, returning from a walk with Martha one 
afternoon while Miss Bayard was in Exeter on business, I 
was informed that a visitor was waiting for me in the draw- 
ing-room, and hastening thither I beheld to my great delight 
the tall figure and sunbrowned, manly face of young Mr. 
Germaine. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A DISCOVERY. 

1 SPRANG' forward to welcome him with outstretched 
hands and an exclamation of delight. Geoffrey greeted 
me no less cordially, and in a moment we were talking like 
old friends ; but after the first remark about our newly 
discovered cousinship Geoffrey said that he had come 
directly from Charlie. 

“ He insisted upon my telling you, Cousin Helen,” said 
Geoffrey in the frank, pleasant voice whose tones I had 
not forgotten, “ that he meant to be at the White House if 
possible, and, if only for the day, on the 5th of July — your 
birthday, I believe — and you must bring the famous box of 
amethysts to show him.” 

We both laughed, but it was hard for me to talk of 
Charlie — to think of him as so ill and feel at all light- 
hearted. 

“ I promise very faithfully,” I answered ; “ you may tell 
Charlie that for me, and he knows that I always keep my 
word if it is a possible thing.” 

“That will comfort the poor little chap immensely,” 
Geoffrey said. “ My cousin Sir Henry, or I ought to say 
your uncle, is up in London for a few days, and, as you 
know. Miss Nettleship is Charlie’s slave, so that there will 
be no danger of his not having his own way on the fifth.” 


A/y MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


199 


Geoffrey had an appointment out of Britton-Marsh, and 
I was sorry that he 'had to leave in a few moments, but 
detained him to define so far as he could our degree of kin- 
ship. He laughed brightly, and, sitting down at the table, 
took up a paper and pencil and sketched a sort of family 
tree, which I watched with interest as the Marshes and 
Germaines appeared; and finally, with a quizzical look out 
of his merry blue eyes, Geoff took his pencil line away 
across the paper to a little round spot which he declared 
was America, and upon which he sketched the two 
“ exiled branches,” as he called them, “ Ada Marsh Glenn 
and daughter of the above,” he said, gayly, “ Amabel Helen 
Glenn.” 

“ And by the way,” said Geoffrey, growing serious again, 
“how did it happen that you never knew you were named 
for Miss Bayard ? ” 

“I don’t know,” I answered. “You see mother rarely 
told me any thing of her home and I happened to be called 
Helen, I believe, because my father liked the name the 
best ; ” and as we were indulging in personalities I inquired 
what the K in his name stood for. Geoffrey laughed, and 
colored slightly. “ King,” he answered, and I exclaimed 
with pleasure that I now understood whence came his 
sobriquet at the Britton-Marsh school, for Cuthbert Bard- 
iston had told me that in Geoffrey’s day there he was 
known as “ King Germaine.” This led to a little talk of the 
school and Cuthbert’s present ambition, Geoffrey kindling 
with the interest which, as a successful Britton-Marsh boy, 
he naturally felt in one who was trying to follow in his foot- 


200 


M Y MO THER 'S ENEM Y. 


steps, and before he said good-by a promise had been 
made that he would say a good word ” for Cuthbert if he 
could get the chance, and there was a look of kindly reso- 
lution on his face which made me feel sure something more 
than the mere promise would come of it for my favorite 
Bertie. 

Miss Bayard was detained unexpectedly in Exeter, and 
wrote that she would come home by way of Britton Bay ; but 
there was no possibility of consulting her in regard to the 
plan I had made for my birthday, as when the eve of that 
festival came she had not returned, and I went to bed deter- 
mined to visit Charlie as early as possible on the following 
morning, feeling sure- that he would keep his part of our 
contract. Martha, to whom the box of amethysts had been 
intrusted, was sure to aid and abet me in any such design, 
so I awoke quite encouraged by the prospect before me and 
ran down gayly enough to the little breakfast room which 
only the day before, in Miss Bayard’s absence, had seemed 
cheerless enough ! It was raining in a drizzling, mournful 
fashion, but I cared nothing for this, and about eleven 
o’clock having received my precious box from Martha 
and been well wrapped up by her approving hands, I set 
forth through the gardens and across the bit of roadway to 
the side entrance of the White House, which I knew very 
well. Bryce, the young footman, admitted me, and smiled 
radiantly. 

“ Master Charles is watching for you, miss,” he said, 
eager to take my water-proof and umbrella. “ He said as 
how he was sure you'd come.” 


MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


201 


I was expected — wanted ! So much the better. I felt a 
welcome in the look of every thing about me as I hastened 
up the well-known staircase and down the bright corridor 
to Charlie's room. 

His “ Come in ” was quick, but the little voice was weak 
and I was not surprised to find him on the sofa paler and 
thinner than ever, and, in spite of the welcome gladness of 
his eyes, the change in his face made his heart sink. 

‘‘I said you'd come ! " he exclaimed, joyfully. “ You're 
like the promise-keeper in the allegory Miss Nettleship 
read last Sunday. There was a break-his-word, too, but it 
says that the promise-keeper cast a light all around when 
he made a promise, and it was a perfect glory when the 
promise was kept ! It's an awfully nice allegory." 

I was on my knees beside my little cousin, and if any 
promise of mine could have kept the color in his cheeks or 
the light of earth in his eyes how gladly would I have been 
its keeper ! 

“ Yes, Charlie, dear," I said, promptly, trying to be 
matter-of-fact lest I should cry foolishly between the pain 
and pleasure I was feeling, ‘‘ I do try to keep my word, and 
so here 1 am ! And here are the amethysts, too. Now, 
then, you shall open the box first. Only be careful of the 
lock, dear. It's a hard key to fit in." 

Charlie enjoyed this part of it immensely. He had quite 
the air of a master-mechanic as he fitted in the key, frowned, 
pursed up his lips, and then — presto ! the lid flew back. 
The amethysts lay shining on their couch of satin just as I 
had laid them away. 


2o2 


MV MOTHER'S EHEMV. 


“ Oh, aren’t they beautiful ! Do put them on, Helen ! ” 
exclaimed Charlie, in delight. And, leaving him the box, I 
took my necklace proudly enough across to the daintily 
draped mirror which years before had given back the pale, 
sweet shadow of little Muriel Germaine. 

I fancy I can see it all now. Myself as I stood there ! So 
unlike Muriel, for my round smiling face was the picture 
of good health, and I recall it, as it was reflected to me with 
smiling eyes and lips above the shining necklace, the better 
because the events of the next five minutes impressed every 
thing about me indelibly on my mind. 

Charlie, interested by the box and proud of his success 
with the lock, had been fumbling it over, turning it upside 
down, shaking it, etc., as any boy, as interested in curious 
mechanism as he was, would be sure to do. Suddenly an 
exclamation of alarm and yet delight reached me from the 
sofa. I turned and saw, as I supposed, fragments of the 
box on Charlie’s knees, and with them some pieces of 
paper. 

Helen ! ” he exclaimed, “ look here. There must have 
been a secret drawer, and I pressed the spring.” 

I flew across the room, you may be sure, gathering the 
papers together, and as I did so saw here and there on the 
faded leaves, with other bits of writing, the name of “ Henry 
Marsh ” over and again, and in quite another hand “ Allan 
Marsh,” but part of the writing, it was very evident, was a 
letter, and while we tremblingly examined it, not venturing 
to read the contents, but both of us in a state of bewilder- 
ment and alarm, I saw that it began. 


J/y MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


203 

My dear Harry'' 

“ O, Charlie ! ” I exclaimed, starting up and feeling be- 
wildered and frightened together. “ These papers have 
lain there a long time, and I am sure — I am sure MisS 
Bayard knew nothing of them, for she never said there was 
any secret drawer in the box.” 

“ Helen,” Charlie said, “ look; it was just a little sliding 
drawer underneath, and you would never guess that it was 
there. The enamel-work pattern went on just the same.” 

I don’t know how I received a sort of impression sud- 
denly that this must have something to do with the dread- 
ful blight — the forgery of long ago which had separated my 
mother and her brother Henry. At all events I felt certain 
that the first and best thing to do was to take them at once 
to Miss Bayard, and, not wishing to excite Charlie, I begged 
him to keep still, saying that if the letters or papers proved 
of any consequence I would come back the next day and 
let him know. 

It may have been as well that the excitement of all this 
absorbed me out of my sadness over bidding Charlie good- 
by, but I was not prepared for the state of consternation 
into which it flung Martha when I returned through the 
gardens to Little Britton House holding my now wonderful 
box with its newly-discovered treasure carefully wrapped 
in my water-proof, forgetful that my head and shoulders 
were being drenched by what was now a heavy storm. 

I felt as though I could not rush fast enough to Martha’s 
room, where I found her busy over some of Miss Bayard’s 
mending, holding up in the light the linen into which she 


204 


Afy MOTHER^S ENEMY. 


was preparing to insert one of her exquisite patches, and yet 
how trifling such occupation seemed to me in view of what 
I had to tell her. 

“ Oh Martha," I cried out, dropping my box upon the 
table, which made her start and look at me over her specta- 
cles in some surprise. ‘‘ What do you think I have found ! 
A secret drawer in the box — papers — Uncle Allan’s name 
and a letter — ’’ 

I could not speak coherently, so eager was I to state the 
facts, but Martha quickly let her work fall and took the 
papers in her hands without a word, while I stood trem- 
bling and anxious, you may believe, wondering what her 
opinion might be, since, of course, as I was well aware, 
Martha knew the family history thoroughly. 

What seemed to me an interminable time elapsed before 
she spoke, but her face in the window showed how pro- 
foundly interested and surprised this discovery made her, 
and she turned at last, looking at me with eyes full of tears. 

“ I hope I haven’t done wrong. Miss Helen,’’ she said in 
trembling tones. “ I just read on without thinking, but this 
letter is meant for Sir Henry, and oh, I don’t know however 
your mother will bear with such good news, for I do believe 
Miss, there is something in this that will set poor Mr. Allan’s 
memory where it should be in the minds of those who have 
scorned him.’’ 

I could have screamed with delight, but I begged Martha 
to think out what we had better do, and it was decidedly to 
my satisfaction that she said : 

“ I think. Miss, that we ought to go at once with the box 


M Y MO 1 HER ’ ENEM Y. 205 

to Britton Bay. Miss Bayard is to stop there this afternoon 
to see Mrs. Bardiston on her way back, and” — Martha 
looked at me solemnly — ” it is my impression that if she 
sees these papers before she gets back here, she’ll never 
rest without showing them herself to Sir Henry.” 

I did not need to ask any questions, so full was my mind 
of the importance of the mere facts which Martha sug- 
gested. I felt as though I were in a dream, while I tried to 
help her to make ready a small bag of traveling necessaries 
which she said I might, need, in case Miss Bayard kept me 
over there ; but I am afraid I was of very little use, my 
whole mind was so full of the curious events of the past and 
the present, the missing link seeming now to be found and 
a prospect before us of possible family reunion, while was 
there not a new chance of happiness with my little 
Charlie ? 

Martha was a person of such importance in the house- 
hold that her word in Miss Bayard’s absence was law, and 
she had only casually to anounce the fact that we were 
starting off to meet Miss Bayard in order to content 
Matthew and the maids with a reason for our departure. 

The afternoon was wet and gloomy still, when we found 
ourselves at the Britton Bay station, and driving along the 
streets leading to the Berlin Bazar — but what were the 
elements — what were wind and rain or sunshine to us ! 
We were silent in our excitement, but I am sure both of us 
were busily occupied with thoughts that went flying into 
future possibilities, and it seemed really surprising when 
Mrs. Bardiston from behind the counter in the shop 


2o6 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


welcomed us with ordinary greetings, enthusiastic only in 
their friendliness. 

“ Why, how glad Miss Bayard will be to see you ! ” she 
exclaimed. “ Did you hear about her cold so soon ? " 

We said no, and Mrs. Bardiston went on. 

“ Why, she came down from Hilford and got such a wet- 
ting she has had to go to bed. I was so glad,” added Mrs. 
Bardiston, in a confidential whisper, “ that the admiral and 
the young ladies are in London for a week. I had the fires 
in their rooms lighted in a moment for her.” 

We explained that we would hasten up to see her, and 
let Martha go in ahead to prepare her mistress for our 
revelation. 

I stood before the fire in the drawing-room recalling the 
day on which I had last been there with Sir Henry. Oh, it 
must be that a person such as he had seemed that day — so 
kind, so fine in expression, tone, and manner — would prove 
a friend, and teach us to forget that he had ever been an 
enemy. 

Miss Bayard’s voice sounded from the other room, and I 
started, hastening in to her. 

She was looking very pale and tired on her pillows, but 
her eyes were glistening and she held her hands out joy- 
fully. 

“ Helen, I believe the mystery is cleared. Now, little 
woman,” she said, smiling proudly and lovingly into my 
face, “ do you think you can find your way without me to 
Mallerdean ? There is not an hour to lose ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


MALLERDEAN AGAIN. 

M ISS BAYARD went very 'slightly into detail about our 
discovery. 

“ I believe, Helen,” she said, as though every utterance 
on the subject, joyful though we might feel, had a sort of 
solemnity, “ I really believe that this letter was written by 
your uncle Allan to his step-brother about the time that 
the note was forged, and it may serve to unravel the mys- 
tery connected with the crime. There seems to be no 
doubt, as I remember all the circumstances, that Allan 
Marsh indorsed the check and drew the money, but it was 
evidently given him by another party, who no doubt was 
the forger.” 

Miss Bayard, after a little further reflection, said that 
the motives, the details. Sir Henry doubtless could deter- 
mine best, and as he was so soon to leave for Italy, perhaps 
this very week, she thought it best for me to hasten to Mal- 
lerdean at once. 

I listened, as may well be imagined, with the most intense 
interest and in a condition of suppressed excitement. Mar- 
tha handed her mistress her writing desk, and with some 


2o8 


MY MOTHER ’S ENEMY. 


agitation she wrote a letter to my uncle. I did not know 
then, what she told me later, that it was the first time in 
seventeen years she had held any direct communication 
with him, but I am sure the letter was simple, kind, and 
friendly, and that all the foolish, self-willed, or arrogant 
fancies of youth were forgotten as she wrote. 

I longed to see Sissy, but she was absent in the town on 
some business for the shop, and so, while Susan darted out 
to order a cab I drank a cup of tea in the drawing-room 
before starting on my errand, and begged Martha to explain 
to Sissy in my absence what had taken me to Mallerdean 
in this bewildering fashion. Then, through the wind and 
rain, in the very stormiest twilight it seemed to me that I 
had ever known, I found myself driving along the shore 
road, where the lights were already twinkling on the wet 
pavements and the beacon way out on the pier was casting 
a ruddy beam upon the wind-lashed waters, but in my heart 
was a feeling of such exultant happiness that I minded 
nothing, cared for nothing, but the fact that I was bring- 
ing good news to Mallerdean and to my mother’s enemy. 

The woman at the Lodge came out, gazing into the car- 
riage with some surprise, as she answered my inquiry as to 
whether “ my uncle. Sir Henry Paulding, was at home.” 
And I could not help leaning forward for a glimpse of her 
cheerful kitchen, wondering if I might not a little later be 
familiar with its every detail, a delightful consciousness 
that mother and I were really to be among our kinsfolk, 
although in what seemed a foreign country, making every 
sight and sound at Mallerdean now seem homelike. 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


209 


I alighted at the main entrance of the house, where Miss 
Bayard’s card and letter and my own name were taken to 
Sir Henry by a very pompous looking man-servant, who 
ushered me into a sort of morning-room at the lower end 
of the fine old hall. The atmosphere of perfect luxury, 
warmth, and stillness seemed to quiet my nervous or 
excited condition of mind even better than the ele- 
ments of congratulation which I would have encountered 
had the Bardistons known my story. I seated myself before 
the recently lighted wood fire, glad of the few moments of 
waiting, during which I had time to look about what was a 
charming room with its candlelight and soft glow from the 
fire shining on damask draperies, ormulu tables, plush 
and satin chairs and some fine water-color drawings, before 
the servant returned, obsequiously civil this time, as he 
requested me at once to follow him to Sir Henry’s 
study. 

We went up the first half of the main staircase. There 
a short landing led down a corridor to a room in the gal- 
lery, whose door was widely opened, and where, amid much 
that was solidly comfortable but by no means luxurious. 
Sir Henry Paulding was standing, evidently on the keen 
watch for my coming. 

His face — especially the dark eyes — lighted quickly as I 
entered. 

“ My dear little girl ! ” he exclaimed, “ I am delighted 
to see you ! Are you wet ? No. Oh, you drove of course.” 

He drew me to a chair before the wood fire and looked 
down at me approvingly — kindly — just as the uncle Charlie 


210 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


had talked so much about ought to look at one of hisj 
younger kinsfolk. 

Miss Bayard’s letter had of course explained that I 
brought with me papers of importance found in the old 
jewel case, and these I handed him, box and all, upon which 
he sat down at a table in the center of the room where he 
pored over the letter and the fragments of paper in a 
silence that seemed to make every thing about us hushed 
and still. || 

“ This is wonderful indeed ! ” he exclaimed suddenly, 
and lifting a face eagerly intense in its expression to my 
anxious gaze. “ It was quite right for Miss Bayard to 
send you to me at once, Helen.” He had begun to pace the 
room thoughtfully, but turned at this. “ Helen, I suppose 
she has told you the whole story ? ” 

I answered yes, and he continued, “ Heaven knows I 
never wanted to believe that thing about Allan, but the I 
proof was so conclusive ! A short time before the forged 1 
check was presented Allan had come to me in London j 
to ask for money wherewith to take your mother and him- j 
self to Australia. He had some plan for making a fortune | 
there, but I opposed it, thinking it would be better for him 
to remain at his post a little longer. He was terribly cut up 
about it and left me almost in anger. Then came the check ! 
There was no doubt but that Allan had drawn the money, and 
of course I believed the temptation to forge my name, leave 
for Australia, whence he might hope to return the money to 
me later, had been too great for the young man to resist. In 
my arrogance I almost thought that God struck him down as 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


2II 


a punishment before he had time to be forgiven. How is 
it we are so bold in our youth; so prone to believe the very 
worst ! These papers (Sir Henry had them in his hand), 
will help me in my search for the real forger, but Allan’s 
letter convinces me that he had iro part in the crime. He 
writes to say that he strongly suspects some one at the bank 
of attempting to forge my name, having come upon certain 
bits of paper with his name and mine cleverly forged upon 
them, the work — he was sure — of the man he was watching 
for other reasons. These are the papers you found in the box. 
They are evidently the work of an apprentice at the business, 
who was trying his hand. Some dates are scribbled down, 
some bits of memoranda which will help me. I think I know 
who the man was. Allan owed him a considerable sum of 
money, and if this man forged that check, as I believe he 
did, there is no doubt it was done with a view to Allan’s pay- 
ing him what he owed before he left for Australia, and the 
guilty man doubtless intended putting the blame entirely 
upon my poor brother, well knowing that I was more than 
inclined at any time to think the worst of him. To a man 
who would forge another’s name a lie more or less would 
make no difference.” 

Sir Henry sat down at his table and, leaning his head 
upon his hand, turned the pages of his brother’s letter over 
with mournful tenderness. 

“ I can’t understand how it all came to be in this box,” 
he exclaimed. He paused, and then said suddenly : “ Ha ! 
if I am not mistaken the box, with some other valuable 
jewels in it, was often kept in the bank in those days. It 


212 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


may have been that my brother was writing the letter at his 
desk and slipped it, unfinished, and these proofs of the 
man’s guilt into the drawer for safe-keeping.” 

I listened, fascinated by these sensational developments 
of the story, while again my uncle, as it seemed natural to 
call him, was absorbed in thinking out the rest of the 
problem. 

“Your mother,” Sir Henry said, suddenly lifting his 
dark eyes from the letter, “ where is she ? ” 

“ I had a line last night,” I answered, “ saying that she 
had started from St. Petersburg with her pupils and their 
father, but the journey would have to be a slow one on 
Stella Hill’s account. However, she told me to address 
her to Paris on the nth. I wrote her all about — meeting 
you, Sir Henry,” I added smiling, “ but you see she had 
started before there was time for my letter to be delivered. 
However, I suppose it will be forwarded.” 

Sir Henry was looking at me, smiling, evidently enjoying 
some of his own reflections. 

“ What do you say, little girl,” he said, “ to meeting your 
mother with me in Paris, or at least to paving the way 
for — ” his eyes twinkled — “ for a meeting with — her 
enemy ! ” 

I laughed gleefully. 

“ Oh Sir Henry,” I exclaimed, “ how delightful, but 
Charlie — ” 

“ Charlie will do well enough for a day or two,” answered 
Sir Henry, “ and by the way, Helen, don’t you think Uncle 
Henry sounds the pleasantest ? Dr. Gay said yesterday 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


213 


that Charlie would be better off here for another month, 
at least. This will give me time to arrange matters with 
your mother." 

We were silent for a moment. Then Sir Henry said, as 
if suddenly remembering the fact, “ I suppose you will 
want to go back to Miss Bayard to-night ; she is ill, you 
say 1 Too ill to see me ? Well, never mind ; I will hope to 
meet her very soon. Heigh-ho ! I wonder if she ever 
remembers that she was rather given to forgetting her 
appointments with me when I was an humble portrait 
painter ? " 

“ Oh, that is in the work-box story," I exclaimed, de- 
lighted ; “ I was sure you were the one ! Were you not the 
artist, Uncle Henry, to whose studio Miss Bayard was going 
one day when something happened ? Weren't you the one 
friend she thought more of than any body in the world ? " 

My uncle looked at me intently. 

“ That is a great deal to say of any one," he answered 
hurriedly, but added presently, “ When Charlie told me that 
story I recognized myself as its hero. But then all of that 
is a long time ago." 

We were silent for a moment, and then I rose, saying 
that perhaps I had better return to Miss Bayard. 

“ Yes, she will be anxious, of course,” said Sir Henry, who 
had been somewhat absent-minded for a moment. He 
touched the bell and, when the servant appeared, desired 
him to summon the housekeeper, Mrs. Dewby. 

She looked surprised on seeing me in the study, but lis- 


214 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


tened with respectful attention to what her master had to 
say. 

“ This is my niece, Miss Glenn, Mrs. Dewby,” said Sir 
Henry quietly ; “ she will be going to Paris with me in a 
few days, but meanwhile it may be that she will stay over 
night at Mallerdean, and I would like you to see that the 
blue suite of rooms in the west wing are made ready with 
every possible comfort.” And I suppose he looked from 
Mrs. Dewby’s smiling, pleasant countenance to my no less 
interested one, and back again to the housekeeper. “ I sup- 
pose you have some one in the house who could wait upon 
Miss Glenn ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly. Sir Henry,” returned Mrs. Dewby with 
alacrity, “everything shall be done just as Miss Glenn 
would wish,” and, evidently well pleased with her com- 
mission, the housekeeper departed, casting a smiling glance 
upon me, which I returned, wondering if she recognized in 
me her visitor of the memorable June day ! 

My uncle himself placed me in the carriage, and it was 
with a very happy if tumultuous heart, I assure you, that I 
returned to the Berlin Bazar, to Miss Bayard, and the 
Bardistons. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


COUNCIL. 

{ FOUND the household in a suppressed state of anxiety 
and expectation. Miss Bayard, who had a sincere lik- 
ing for the Bardistons, and genuine respect for them since 
their new venture in life, had told enough of the story to 
Sissy and her mother to make them full of excitement when 
I returned. Sissy met me in the hall, but, simultaneously 
with her appearance, the sitting-room door opened, and lit- 
tle Susan came forward to say that supper was prepared. 
Every possible token of good humor and attention was 
shown on Mrs. Bardiston’s part, although — lam almost 
sure that I am right — Sissy’s eyes looked as though she had 
been crying. But if this were the case, her friendliness was 
none the less apparent. I felt that I must go directly to 
Miss Bayard, but I lingered a moment on the staircase to 
whisper to Sissy, while she had her hand on mine, that noth- 
ing would ever need to make any difference between us. 
But she said mournfully, “ Oh, you don’t know English 
ways,” and I felt heavy-hearted for the first time since 
learning of my good fortune. 

Miss Bayard, wearing a soft, pale-blue dressing-gown, in 
which I always thought she looked so young and pretty, 
and like the water-colored picture I had seen of her girl- 


2i6 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


hood, was waiting for me on the sofa up-stairs, and the 
first thing I did was to fling myself on my knees beside her, 
throw my arms about her neck, and, embracing her fervent- 
ly, I exclaimed in broken sentences, half laughing and cry- 
ing together, 

“ Oh, Miss Bayard! he is so lovely, so kind — oh, it was 
all so beautiful — and I am so, so happy ! 

“ So it was all right, Helen dear ! ” said my friend, in a 
voice tremulous with excitement. It held some sweet vi- 
bration, some new cadence, and when I lifted my face and 
looked at her, I saw that her eyes were shining, and the 
soft oval of her cheeks flushed pink like a girl’s. Suddenly 
I seemed to realize that Miss Bayard to-day was far lovelier 
than the proud and smiling girl of eighteen years ago, 
whose picture had held a first place in my fancy. “ Now 
give me every detail.” She clasped her hands behind her 
head on the pillow, and prepared to listen, while I told her 
every thing about my visit, repeating as clearly as possible 
and as accurately all that my uncle had said, and dwelling 
with every sentence upon what I considered the charm and 
kindness of hfs manner. She laughed and took in very 
good part wbat I had to tell about my speaking of the 
work-box story. But in a moment she said casually that, 
after all, time ought to count for very little in a separation 
where people really had reason to respect each other. 

“ You must want your supper now, dear,” Miss Bayard 
said, after the brief silence which followed her last remark, 

and I think, as I have had mine, the Bardistons will feel 
it particularly friendly in you to join them. We must be 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


217 


careful not to hurt their feelings, for I am sure they are 
excellent people, and their interest in you is genuine.” 

I waited to tell her of their kindness to the little Good- 
wins, and Miss Bayard said it was just like them, and she 
was all the better pleased to think she had it in her power 
to further their advancement now. 

I ran down stairs and presented my smiling countenance 
in the little sitting-room, where I was eagerly welcomed, 
and I sat down as usual between Sissy and Cuthbert while I 
rallied the former on the fact that her romantic prophecies 
were likely to come true. 

“ And who knows. Sissy dear,” I said, slipping my arm 
around her waist, and trying to chase the pathos out of her 
sweet dark eyes, “ you may have a romance of your own yet, 
and it will suit you far better than me, for you know, Mrs. 
Bardiston, Sissy has always declared I was disagreeably 
practical.” 

But Cuthbert and I had all the fun over this suggestion 
to ourselves, the subject being of too solemn importance to 
Mrs. Bardiston and Sissy to treat so lightly ; and while I 
rattled on and Bertie declared that we should run a race in 
life and see whether he wrote his great novel first or I 
became a duchess, Mrs. Bardiston was regarding me with 
mental calculations, no doubt, as to how soon I would be 
presented to the county as Sir Henry Paulding’s niece — 
perhaps heiress— and Sissy, I feel sure, was estimating the 
awful social distance between the Manor House of Mailer- 
dean and the Berlin Bazar. A gleam of comfort came to 
Sissy, however, when I whispered to her that I wished that 


2i8 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


she could bring her cot into my room for the night, and, 
promising to be up there as soon as I was dismissed by 
Miss Bayard, I returned to the drawing-room, where I found 
my “ Cousin Amabel,” as I had lately learned to call her, 
very much excited over a new idea which had occurred to 
her mind. 

“ Helen,” she said eagerly, and motioning me to her side, 
as soon as I re-entered the room, “ I know that until your 
Uncle Allan’s memory is fully cleared — his name vindicated 
before all the Hilford people who remember him long ago — 
nothing will make your mother at rest in England, and I 
have been turning it over and over in my mind, trying to 
think who could help us to trace out the real criminal — not 
perhaps to hunt him down, but to at least obtain certain 
facts in detail whereby Allan’s innocence can be proven. 
Old Mr. Vail at Hilford knew every body in or about the 
bank at that time. He is a shrewd lawyer and, with the 
proofs we have, I feel sure his advice would be worth tak- 
ing. We have a few days before your mother can arrive in 
Paris, and I am going to suggest to Sir Henry that you 
and I run up to Hilford while he is settling about Charlie, 
and at least find out what Mr. Vail has to say.” 

It appeared as though every step in this affair was 
accompanied by some agreeable novelty. Nothing could 
have suited me better than such a visit as Miss Bayard 
proposed, and before going to my room she wrote a few 
lines to Sir Henry, which I was to see dispatched to Mal- 
lerdean early the next morning, for, if she felt at all able. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


219 


Cousin Amabel said we would start for Hilford the follow- 
ing afternoon. 

I am afraid Sissy and I did not prepare for any excite- 
ment of the next day in a very sensible manner, for we laid 
awake until long after midnight, talking to each other in 
the darkness from our separate cots. Sissy’s good spirits 
having quite returned by this time ; and even after she was 
sound asleep I went on thinking and planning for the future, 
while the rain beat in torrents against the window panes, 
and I could fancy the park and brilliant flower garden of 
Mallerdean drenched under the storm. But, oh, what home- 
like warmth and good cheer as well as splendor were con- 
tained within the walls of Sir Henry’s and my little Charlie’s 
home ! What pleasure I would find in roaming at my leisure 
through the grand old house. Perhaps when I went again 
my cousin Geoffrey would be there, and I fell asleep fancy- 
ing the happiness of a long summer afternoon in the fas- 
.cinating picture gallery with Geoffrey Germaine and Char- 
lie to tell me all its story. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


I BECOME IMPORTANT. 

S IR HENRY answered the note in person. Cousin 
Amabel and I had breakfasted and were discussing 
the time-table and our best train when Susan appeared to 
say that Sir Henry Paulding was in the parlor below wait- 
ing to hear whether Miss Bayard could receive him. She 
rose, remained silent for a moment, while she swept away 
the papers on the table before which we had been sitting, 
and then bade me go and bring my uncle to her. 

The same kindly look of satisfaction which had wel- 
comed me the day before came into his face as I entered 
Mrs. Bardiston’s parlor, and in a few moments we had both 
reached the drawing-room, and after that foolish, useless 
estrangement of seventeen years, based on what now 
seemed to both the merest trifles, the two old friends met 
again, clasped hands, and looked at each other for an instant 
in wistful silence, while I, from my side of the room, won- 
dered whether they found much change in each other ; 
whether for instance Uncle Henry missed the fire and bril- 
liancy of the beautiful girl he had known, or if to Cousin 
Amabel’s eyes he seemed less of a hero than in the days 
when she had known him first and the events of the work- 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


221 


box story taken place ! But whatever they were thinking of 
each other in that first moment of greeting very little was said 
to indicate their sentiments. When my uncle, accepting the 
chair offered him, said, regarding her intently, 

“ It seems like yesterday, Amy, that you and I were in 
Hilford together,” Cousin Amabel smiled and ans^yered, 

“ Yesterday seems very near to us as we grow older — but 
time flies as it did not in our youth.” 

And after another little silence they both became 
absorbed in the question of the Hilford visit, and to my 
great satisfaction Uncle Henry fully approved the idea of 
our seeing Mr. Vail at once. 

‘‘ I have brought the box back with me on purpose,” he 
said, ‘‘ and should you need me there you have only to 
send word and I will come at once.” 

The details being decided upon, Uncle Henry said in his 
kindest manner that he wanted to say a few words on 
business to Miss Bayard, and I, of course, left the room, but 
later knew that the “ business ” was my insignificant self. 
It appears that he impressed Cousin Amy with the fact 
that he felt he had a right to consider himself my guardian, 
and told her that he would take the responsibilty of so 
regarding me, until my mother returned. He wanted me to 
feel from the outset that I was “ Miss Glenn of Mallerdean,” 
and I do not doubt that his motive in pushing me so 
hurriedly into such a position was a feeling that my mother 
would not interfere with what she found was making me and 
those who loved me happy when she and I were once more 
together. So it was arranged that I should start from 


222 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Britton Bay, with a certain degree of conventional elegance, 
Uncle Henry wishing it also to be clearly understood that 
on my return I should be prepared to go to Paris with him, 
taking a maid of my own, and remaining at Mallerdean 
the day before our journey. 

When all of this was communicated to me, I am afraid 
the idea of so much ceremony rather dashed my spirits, 
but Cousin Amy, who had a faculty for making every thing 
seem pleasant, offered an agreeable suggestion. Mrs. 
Bardiston, to whom I had repeated the interview between 
my uncle and Mrs. Dewby, had already seen Miss Bayard, 
to petition that little Susan be “ tried ” for the maid’s place, 
this being, Mrs. Bardiston declared, just what the girl was 
really suited for, and it would be a great help to her, as they 
found it necessary to keep a middle-aged servant, to whom 
much of the household duty could be intrusted. The 
prospect of having Susan about me was by no means 
unwelcome : she could never be formidable, and was always 
bright, tidy, and cheerful ; so Miss Bayard suggested that 
she should accompany us to Hilford, where she would “ fall 
into the way,” Cousin Amy said, of “ waiting on me.” 

I laughed heartily. 

“ Indeed, Cousin Amy,” 1 declared, “ it is I who will have 
to fall into the way of being waited on,” a remark which, 
when I repeated it to Sissy, was immediately silenced, she 
considering it was only “ right and proper ” that I should 
travel as befitted my station. 

But what was much more to the purpose was that I 
traveled as befitted my heart and inclination. What a 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


223 


delightful journey that was ! How each point in the land- 
scape we flitted past recalled to my mind the first time 
I had seen it — the pale-hued spring day when I had 
journeyed to Britton-Marsh, feeling like some strange sem- 
blance of my real self — some unfamiliar girl I might have 
read about, who was stepping into an unknown region of 
dream or fairy-land. But now all was real, all tangible, and 
all — or nearly all — happy. Sitting opposite my Cousin Amy 
I gazed first at the flying country, with its rich hues of 
mid-summer and its many diversities, then back I brought 
my glance to the beautiful quiet face of my newly found, 
but so dearly loved cousin, and I felt myself justified by 
all that had happened in feeling sure that the sequel would 
be all that even mother could desire. 

The summer dusk had gathered into close shadows by the 
time we reached Hilford, and drove to the George Inn, an 
ancient hostelry on the High Street, famous, as I have since 
learned, for its old hallway, oaken staircase^ and vaulted 
cellar, relics of medieval times, when this portion of “ The 
George ” was a monastery. Susan was the only excited 
one of the party by this time, but Sissy, I am sure, had 
impressed her with an idea that calm of expression and 
repose of manner were essentials in the well-bred lady’s 
maid ; for as soon as she caught my eye 'and smiling glance 
she tried to appear very self-possessed, and look as though 
she was thoroughly accustomed to travel, instead of being 
positively frightened by journeying for the first time more 
than five miles from home ! But Cousin Amy, in a gentle 
way peculiar to herself, made my little hand-maiden profit 


224 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


at once by even this experience, showing her how to direct 
the porter in regard to our luggage ; and when we were 
established in a charmingly quaint suite of rooms fronting 
the old street of the town, oak paneled and otherwise 
bearing mute testimony to their original purpose, she quietly 
directed Susan how to unpack my portmanteau and arrange 
things, also how to ring for the hotel servant and order a cab 
to take us to Mr. Vail’s. 

“Thank you so kindly, ma’am,” Susan said, as she fol- 
lowed us to the carriage with some wraps which Cousin 
Amy thought we might need. “ I am sure I will try to get 
on when you’re so good to me and as we drove away 
Cousin Amy smiled at me and said she felt certain that 
Susan would turn out a real comfort to me. Only yester- 
day, after nearly twenty years, I recalled this evening to 
Susan’s mind, and she said, with a blush of pleasure in the 
recollection, “ She taught me in the best way what has 
lasted me ever since ; ” and I may add that I never feel 
conscious of my faithful maid’s good qualities and loyal 
service without a similar reflection and a sense of gratitude 
to my Cousin Amy. 

A messenger had been dispatched from the hotel to 
apprise Mr. and Miss Vail of our coming, and we were wel- 
comed cordially by the brother and sister, dear old Miss 
Vail embracing me warmly and whispering great satisfac- 
tion in the way things were turning out ; and while Cousin 
Amy and the kind-hearted lawyer had a confidential talk 
in his study over the important question which we had 
come here to try and decide. Miss Vail and I sat together 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


225 


in the cozy little drawing-room, both of us enjoying heartily 
the history of all that had occurred since the memorable 
day upon which I had set forth to Britton-Marsh. The 
dear little old lady was startled, interested, taken out of her 
usual placid every-day life in a way which thrilled and 
excited her and, as she declared, “ made her feel really 
young again.” 

“ I thought all such romances belonged only to novels 
or the stage, my dear Helen,” said Miss Vail, a delicate 
color rising upon her fair old cheeks, which had the look of 
an old-fashioned miniature about them, I always thought. 
“ But it appears, my love, that we are bearing testimony to 
the fact that truth is stranger than fiction. Miss Bayard 
was very right — very sensible,” she added, “to come at 
once to my brother for advice. I am sure if any one could 
suggest a solution to the enigma it is he.” 

And when in a little while Mr. Vail appeared with Cousin 
Amy it ensued that he had suggested something which was 
a most agreeable surprise to me. 

If any one could assist us in our search Mr. Vail decided 
it would be George Ross, the hard-worked, struggling 
father of the sweet young girl 1 had met at Lady Dowling’s. 
He had been in The bank with my Uncle Allan, and 
although he took orders later, having then, it was supposed 
by his family, the prospect of a good living, in which, how- 
ever, he was disappointed, he had been a very energetic 
clerk in the bank, and knew thoroughly all those con- 
nected with it, when the painful event occurred which 


226 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


resulted in my mother’s self-imposed exile and so much 
family estrangement. 

‘‘ The Rosses live at Merrivale, the village just beyond 
Squire Marsh’s old place,” Cousin Amy said, as we were 
driving back to the inn half an hour later, “ and we must 
be up bright and early, Helen, to go over there. Mr. Ross 
has led so quiet a life in spite of its struggles that his 
memory of past events will be all the clearer, and I firmly 
believe he will be of real assistance in this matter.” 

So it was with a thankful and hopeful spirit that we bade 
each other good-night, looking forward to prosperity of 
some kind on the morrow. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


MERRIVALE. 

'T'HE softest of summer sunshine just stirred by a dainty 
A little breeze made our drive to Merrivale the next 
morning most enjoyable, while to me every object in the 
country-side was of interest, for was it not the scene of my 
mother’s childhood and growing years ? and with Cousin 
Amy near me to point out every thing which had an asso- 
ciation connected with my mother’s past I could only gaze 
in eager silence first at one thing, then another : now taking 
in the beauty of some bit of valley land where the Wey 
wound like a silver thread in the distance, dividing banks 
flushed with the blossoms of midsummer and meadows 
stretching green and level with their hedge-rows like deep- 
er lines of verdure ; again enjoying the quaintness of some 
secluded road-way or the picturesque irregularity of a lit- 
tle hamlet where the thatched cottages, blooming yard- 
ways, and homely occupations of the people reminded me 
of pictures which my mother treasured in her American 
home, — sketches I knew later to have been from my uncle’s 
hand. Although anxious to make me well acquainted with 
this part of my mother’s country. Cousin Amy could not, I 
am sure, find herself going over the old familiar ground 


228 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


without a tinge of that sort of melancholy which belongs to 
all retrospection, and as we entered the village of Merri- 
vale itself she turned to me with a wistful smile, say- 
ing, 

“ How well I remember the first day I came here ! Just 
as we are driving now we went then, and, although it is 
fully a quarter of a century ago, I can see but little change ; 
but then the English country people are all conservative in 
their ideas and manners.” 

The village consisted of one long straggling street, border- 
ed by cottages of varied styles, some of brick or stone, others 
whitewashed and thatched, while a few dwellings of more 
imposing air were to be seen ; and there was, as usual in all 
English villages, a public-house with a swinging sign, an 
humbler tap-room, and a few shops with an animated smithy 
at the end of a little lane. We paused at the inn to make 
some inquiry for the Reverend George Ross’s^ abode, and 
were directed to go up a zig-zag roadway, down the first 
turning to the left, where we came in view of a charming lit- 
tle church with a church-yard full of old tombstones, shad- 
ed by yew and willow trees, and having a walk from its 
lych-gate to the doorway, bordered primly by tall poplars. 
At any other time I would have been eager enough to ex- 
plore the quaint old church and its grave-yard ; but as we 
paused before the house indicated as Mr. Ross’s I became 
conscious only of the fact that here we might find what 
would set my mother’s heart once and for all at rest and 
bring peace to the long-estranged family. 

Mr. Ross and his family occupied — on sufferance— what 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


229 


was really the rectory of Merrivale church, the rector being 
abroad. This gentleman had placed Annie’s father as 
curate in his parish, and considered that in giving him the 
house rent-free and one hundred and twenty-five pounds 
per annum he made a very liberal arrangement, although he 
was in receipt himself of an income of one thousand pounds 
from the church property. How the large family of healthy 
hearty girls and boys subsisted on this sum, how Mr. Ross 
and his wife contrived to keep up an appearance of gen- 
tility, and pay their way, I can not understand; but as soon as 
we were admitted into the drawing-room of the old-fashioned 
rather rambling house, set in the midst of what might have 
been a fine garden, I saw evidences of poverty clearly ap- 
parent, for every thing was shabby, threadbare, and worn. 
The carpet was patched, the furniture had evidently been 
mended over and again, while there was little in the room 
beyond what was barely necessary for the convenience of 
the family, or an occasional guest ; and Mrs. Ross who very 
soon appeared, was just the anxious looking, careworn sort 
of woman the mother of such a family might be expected to 
appear. Yet it was evident that she was a perfect lady ; 
that she had once been fair, freshly colored, and pretty like 
Annie, but years of a hard struggle with life and eight 
growing children had lined her face prematurely, streaked 
her hair plentifully with gray, and the hands which might 
have been soft and shapely in her youth were thin now and 
bore traces of hard work. 

Mrs. Ross was very cordial, and, finding that Cousin Amy 
had come to see her husband on business, said she would 


230 


MV MOTHER^S ENEMY, 


summon him immediately, adding with a smile that “ he 
had his study over in the church to be away from the noise 
of the children.” 

“ Then pray let me join him over there,” said Cousin Amy 
in her gentlest manner, “ and perhaps I can leave my cousin 
Helen Glenn with your young people, Mrs. Ross ? She will 
have something pleasant to tell them of Annie.” 

So it came about that while Cousin Amy went over to the 
church and Mr. Ross, I was escorted up stairs to a large, 
shabby school room, well lighted, however, and cheerful 
with morning sunshine, and the voices and laughter of half 
a dozen young people, who rose from their chairs on our 
entering the room and gazed at me in silence,' while Mrs. 
Ross introduced me as “ Sir Henry Paulding’s niece. Miss 
Glenn,” and Ada, the oldest girl in the little party, stepped 
forward and welcomed me with a sweet manner like her 
sister Annie’s. 

It was my first experience in an English family party of 
their class, and when a certain feeling of shyness had worn 
away all around I found myself thoroughly at home, talking 
freely to the three boys and four girls, the oldest of whom, 
Ada, was perhaps twenty years of age, and who as school 
mistress for the little flock, and general assistant to her 
mother in house and parish work, was kept at home, Annie 
having been the first fledgling to try her wings in the outer 
world. Disciplined as the family had been by their strug- 
gles with life, inured from the cradle to various privations 
and even hardships, such as were inevitable, the Rosses 
were, I must say, a very contented, cheerful family ; and as I 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


231 


soon found, from the kind of study and reading they took as 
a matter of course, decidedly clever, while a certain down- 
right simplicity and frankness, a lack of all affectation or 
attempt to appear other than they really were in any way, 
made them charming ; and I could not help contrasting their 
fresh, pleasant manners, their sweet young voices, and well- 
bred tone with some of the more “ emancipated ” of my 
young friends at home, who perhaps would have been 
ashamed of welcoming a stranger in such a shabby room, 
and dressed so poorly, but who certainly could not have 
treated me with sweeter cordiality or such simple-hearted 
kindness. 

^‘Oh! do tell us all about Lady Dowling's house,” Lionel, 
the oldest boy, said eagerly, and Marion, his twin sister, a 
curly headed girl of fifteen, added quite as earnestly, “ Is 
it very grand and solemn ? Annie wrote us that there is 
such a jolly ghost story told about the old pond.” 

I graphically recounted this weird tale, also described 
some of the splendors of the Deanery, recounted my last 
interview with Annie, and said with a blush that Miss 
Bayard meant to invite her to pass a few days any way at 
Little-Britton House. Whereupon the sisters exchanged 
glances of satisfaction, and Nora, a tall girl next in years to 
Annie, said with an air of great importance, 

“ Next year we are hoping that Lady Dowling will do 
something for me. She almost promised last summer to 
send me for six months to a French school, as I am to 
teach,” — a remark which surprised me somewhat just then, 
but later I learned to understand how much the English 


232 


MY MOTHER* S ENEMY. 


girl who supports herself has to depend upon patronage of 
rich or influential friends or connections ; therefore it may 
be as well that there is no sentiment or false pride 
about accepting favors when such is the necessity of the 
case. 

An hour passed pleasantly enough; and if in the course 
of that time I learned indirectly much of the care and hard- 
ships of the household, I felt also singularly drawn toward 
these bright young people, and, in spite of my anxiety to 
learn the result of Miss Bayard’s interview with Mr. Ross, I 
was .sorry when I had to wish them good-by, but Cousin 
Amy was all cordiality, and promised that we should soon 
meet again. 

We drove directly to Mr. Vail’s office in the Hilford 
High Street. How well I remembered my first visit there ! 
The fragments of conversation which had reached me 
hinting at a mystery I never thought to solve, my mother’s 
pale, sweet face, the lawyer’s wrinkled one as he looked at 
me while they talked, all came back with a rush of recollec- 
tion ; and again that sense that the present must be a dream 
confused me as I found myself following Cousin Amy into 
the large, dingy room where Mr. Vail sat alone, rising to 
greet us with an eager inquiry as to the result of our visit 
to George Ross. 

Cousin Amy had said very little as we drove back. She 
had much to think out; but now, seated just where I remem- 
bered my mother’s figure on the first day, while I occupied 
a chair at the other end of the table, she gave every detail 
of her conversation with Annie’s father, placing before Mr. 


AfY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


233 


Vail some letters and papers which had a bearing on the 
subject in hand. 

“ We went over carefully all that he could remember of 
his bank experience,” said Cousin Amy ; “ little by little he 
pieced out a connected reminiscence of the time, and by 
referring to certain memoranda and letters — to an old 
journal or diary which you see he has loaned me — recalled 
just who was there with him and, best of all, found these 
letters, written by the man whom he thinks may have had 
something to do with the matter. The fact, which has never 
been disputed, that Allan indorsed and cashed the check is 
still puzzling, but Mr. Ross remembers that this Paul Con- 
way, who was an official in the bank at the time, resigned 
soon afterwards, and went abroad under somewhat mysteri- 
ous circumstances, while some irregularities discovered 
later in the books, showing a defalcation of some fifteen 
hundred pounds, were laid to his account, although they 
could never absolutely prove it. These letters in the hand 
of an expert who could examine the fragments found in the 
jewel case might go far to prove that Conway had a hand 
in the matter, and if only he could be found Allan s mem- 
ory might be vindicated once and for all. It seems so 
cruel, added Cousin Amy, the pink color rising to her cheek 
and her dark eyes kindling, “ that an innocent man, though 
in his grave, should be remembered as a felon, and above all 
that Ada Glenn and her child should be banished ! ” 

I felt the tears rising to my eyes and slipped my hand 
under the table to find one of Cousin Amy’s, which I 
squeezed sympathetically as she continued. 


234 


MV MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


Mr. Ross thinks that Conway is living somewhere near 
the town of Blois, in France, where he is working as an 
engraver, which I believe was his original profession. A 
promise not to prosecute him or investigate any thing fur- 
ther in his past may, if he is found, induce him to tell the 
whole story.” 

“//■ Ross’s theory is correct,” said Mr. Vail, with char- 
acteristic legal caution ; “ we must not hope for too much ; 
but,” he added, smiling as he caught sight of Cousin Amy’s 
scornful expression, “ There certainly seems to be something 
in all of this,” tapping the papers before him, “to build a 
case upon, and I would advise your putting it at once into 
Sir Henry’s hands.” 

A long talk, in which various pros and cons were dis- 
cussed, followed, then we returned for luncheon to The 
George, and after a short call upon Miss Vail, who was all 
excitement, interest, and sympathy with our point of view, 
we took the next train for Britton Bay and Uncle Henry, 
who had agreed to expect me (with Susan in attendance) 
any moment at Mallerdean. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A “ STATE ” VISIT. 

1\ /jTSS BAYARD stopped with me for half an hour at the 
Berlin Bazar, whence a messenger was dispatched 
to my uncle, who drove over at once, and while he and 
Cousin Amy had a confab as to the result of our Hilford 
investigation I sat in the shop parlor with Sissy and her 
mother in the summer dusk, telling them all that I could of 
our visit and finding that they considered the matter as 
good as settled, such doubts as would have affected either 
Sir Henry or Mr. Vail appearing to them as foolish in the 
extreme. 

It was understood, of course, that I should return to 
Mallerdean with my uncle, but when the moment came, 
pleased and proud as Sissy was of my social advancement, 
she could not conceal a touch of the same despondency 
with which she had received the first intelligence of my 
good fortune; her delight may therefore be imagined when, 
as we were leaving, my uncle spoke to Mrs. Bardiston and 
Sissy very kindly, and said that the latter must “ spend a 
day at Mallerdean on our return from Paris.” 

I must admit to a pang of great loneliness at bidding Cousin 
Amy good-by, even temporarily, and also to a feeling of 


236 


MV MOTHERS S EETEMV. 


decided comfort in the fact of having Susan’s familiar face 
and figure, and — must I confess it ? — the solace of her com- 
pany in my first experience at Mallerdean. She accom- 
panied us as we drove to the manor house at about eight 
o’clock in the evening, sitting on the back seat of the fine 
carriage and regarding Sir Henry from time to time with a 
kind of paralyzed air of admiration and awe, while I am 
sure no moment of her life was ever before or afterwards 
so proud and happy as the one in which she found herself 
entering Mallerdean as maid to the person already known 
in the servants’ hall as “our young lady.” 

Mrs. Dewby, followed by an obsequious footman and 
very civil maid servant, met us, and to the care of these 
personages Susan and I were for the time being consigned, 
Uncle Henry asking me to meet him as soon as possible 
in the dining-room, where dinner would be waiting, it hav- 
ing been delayed half an hour on my account. As well as 
I remember I certainly took hold of Susan’s hand and 
squeezed it as we followed Mrs. Dewby up the magnificent 
staircase, across the gallery and into the first of the rooms 
prepared for mother and me, now to be occupied by my- 
self alone, Susan having a bed however in my dressing- 
room. 

I saw at once, in a flood of candlelight, that they were 
the charming rooms which long ago had belonged to my 
Cousin Muriel. The bedroom, daintily draped in Chinese 
silk, opened from a charming sitting-room or boudoir, 
which, as I have before described it, was furnished with 
every dainty girlish elegance, while some special articles of 


My MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


237 


comfort had been newly introduced for me, and the dress- 
ing-room on the other side of my sleeping apartment fairly 
bewildered me by its luxurious appointments ; but all 
offered dazzling suggestions of a time when it might be that 
mother and I would have our home at Mallerdean. 

“ Now, what do you suppose. Miss,” said Susan, in an 
anxious whisper, as soon as we were alone, “ what do you 
suppose would be the first thing I ought to do? I wouldn’t 
for a farm. Miss, have Mrs. Dewby’s housemaid come up 
here and find out as how I had made a mistake ; or it might 
even be. Miss,” added Susan, with an apologetic blush, 
“ that she’d take it into her head you hadn’t always had 
your own maid by you.” 

This appeared very important, and while I made a hasty 
toilet before joining my uncle, we discussed how Susan 
should dispose of my modest belongings in the dressing- 
room, a bright idea occurring to her when she discovered 
that she could “turn the key of the dressing bureau on my 
toilet articles until she understood just how to arrange them 
in full view.” 

Mrs. Dewby’s housemaid, as she called the fine-looking 
capped and aproned young person who had lighted my 
candles, soon appeared to escort “ Miss Robbins,” as she 
called Susan, to the servants’ hall, while I, feeling very in- 
significant in the midst of so much that was spacious and 
splendid, made my way down to the drawing-room, where 
my uncle was waiting for me, and whence, with the easiest 
kind of good humor, he led me in to dinner. 

We dined alone at a small round table laden with flowers. 


238 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


silver, and glass, waited on by two solemn men-servants, 
who, much to my relief, left us alone at dessert, when my 
uncle began to talk pleasantly of our trip to Paris, saying 
that Charlie was as much interested, he believed, in all this 
as I could be, and adding, to my delight, Cousin Geoffrey 
would accompany us. 

I thought he might be useful,” said Uncle Henry, “ in 
showing you something of Paris, while I am employed in 
making a few preliminary investigations, or it may be run- 
ning down for the day to Blois. Geoff has an aunt over 
there with whom, if necessary, I could leave you for a day 
or two.” 

All of this made me very happy and contented when 
about ten o’clock I bade my uncle good-night and, taking 
a candle from his hand, mounted the staircase once again, 
finding my way without difficulty to my rooms, where the 
events and excitement of the day had made me ready 
enough to fall quickly asleep, scarcely a dream disturbing 
my slumbers until nine o’clock the next morning, when I 
was awakened by Susan standing at my bedside with a 
breakfast tray, her face gleaming with gratification and de- 
light as she informed me “ she was getting on splendid and 
here was my breakfast ; Mrs. Dewby thought I’d like to take 
it in my room, as Sir Henry had already finished his.” 

Susan regaled me with an account of the servants’ hall, 
while I sipped my coffee and tasted the dainties before me. 

They keep eleven. Miss,” she said, with round eyes 
fixed upon me ; “ Sir Henry’s own man, such a fine gentle- 
man, too. Miss, the two footmen and Mr. Horton the butler. 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


239 


I took my dinner and my breakfast in the house-keeper’s 
room with Mr. Horton and Sir Henry’s man, Mr. Burge, he’s 
a first cousin of the Burges in Britton-Marsh and was most 
sociable. All the others, you see, Miss, take their meals 
in the long room ! Mrs. Dewby said it was very pleasant to 
have me, and she wondered if your mamma would bring a 
maid over from Russia, Miss, and if she did, whether she’d 
be able to speak the language.” 

I laughed heartily, and told Susan that I scarcely thought 
my mother would import any such article, and then I sub- 
mitted to a certain extent to being assisted in my toilet, but 
I’m afraid that even to this day I have not become very 
fond of the sort of waiting upon which I see given in many 
English dressing-rooms, although my little Susan from the 
very first has been all attention, kindness, and care. 

We were to meet Geoffrey in Paris, and at midday set off, 
reaching London by nightfall, where we remained over 
night, and then started, as I felt from the moment my face 
was turned Channel-wards, to meet my mother. 

All the philosophizing in the world counts for nothing in 
the balance of light-hearted youth. When I set out on that 
important journey with my uncle I cast every doubt of non- 
success to the winds, and I verily believe that I must have 
worn a smile from the time we left Britton Bay until we 
reached Paris. I forgot my shyness and chattered like a mag- 
pie to my uncle, who was very indulgent and probably well 
pleased to hear the details I had to give of our life in 
America. 

My uncle’s rank, his apparent wealth, traveling with his 


240 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


valet and every outward sign of high station, smoothed 
things wonderfully on that journey, which might have been 
into fairy-land, so novel and bewildering were its delights 
to me. We drove from the Gare du Nord in Paris straight- 
way to the Hotel Bristol, where Geoffrey Germaine wel- 
comed us, and my uncle, placing me in his care, set out to 
inquire if my mother had by any chance arrived at the 
address given in her last letter, when she had, of course, no 
idea that we would meet her. Meanwhile Geoffrey and I 
waited in the pretty private salon, which was part of the 
suite engaged by Uncle Henry, and Susan, having vanished 
into an adjoining apartment with my belongings, my cousin 
made me comfortable in a capacious easy chair, and then 
held forth on all the sights ” he meant to show me. 

“ No success,” said Uncle Henry, returning while Geoff 
and I were in the midst of a consultation as to which public 
building I would take first. “ I only could find that Mr. 
Hill’s party were not expected for three days, so, my dear 
Helen, I will get Lady Kate Hollis to look after you for a 
day or two while I run down to Blois, as I do not like to 
waste any time.” 

At dinner I was told that Lady Kate was the aunt of 
Geoffrey Germaine, of whom Uncle Henry had spoken, and 
early the next day she appeared, — a large, handsome blonde 
woman of about thirty, whose husband was attached to the 
English Embassy in Paris and who was delighted, she said 
at once, with her mission from Sir Henry. I found as soon 
as my uncle had departed that it included pleasure I had 
not looked for. On my dressing table was a packet which 


MV MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


241 


had been intrusted to Susan’s care, and which, on opening, I 
discovered to contain a bank bill of value and a short note 
from the generous donor : “ I have explained to Lady 
Kate,” my uncle had written hastily in penciling, “ that you 
want to do a great deal of shopping. You can rely on her 
good taste, and if the inclosed is not sufficient to cover 
the expense of every thing you want to buy for yourself or 
presents for the Bardistons I will settle with Lady K. on 
my return for whatever you and she choose to spend.” 

Lady Kate proved the most good-humored and indulgent 
of chaperones. I found her talking in the salon with 
Geoffrey when I returned from my own room, and it was 
evident that they had been speaking of me from the very 
marked way in which her ladyship turned the subject when 
I entered ; but nothing could have been kinder or more 
reassuring than her manner when she discussed briefly with 
me of my needs, and then, telling Geoffrey laughingly that 
he might meet us in the Louvre near the Madonna at three 
o’clock, we set forth on the most delightful of shopping 
expeditions, driving from place to place in Lady Kate’s 
fine carriage, I so bewildered and entertained by all that I 
saw that I could with difficulty keep up my part of the 
conversation. Lady Kate, however, considered it an 
opportunity for discussing my position which was too good 
to be thrown away. After expatiating on my uncle’s lone- 
liness and his earnest desire to renew old associations, she 
said that she supposed I understood what an “ excellent 
position I would have as Miss Glenn of Mallerdean. 

I smiled. “ But you know. Lady Kate,” I said politely, but 


242 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


with much decision, “ nothing of that kind can be decided 
yet ; it is not possible to know what my mother intends to 
do.” 

Lady Kate elevated her brows and looked at me with an 
expression of amused incredulity, but which plainly said : 
“ The idea of these Americans thinking of making terms 
with such a one as Sir Henry ! ” But aloud she said very 
quietly: “ I hardly think, my love, that your mother will think 
of interfering with any of Sir Henry’s plans.” Still, as I 
reflected, I knew my mother and her ladyship, discriminat- 
ing as she was, did not, and I was by no means certain that 
Sir Henry would have things all his own way. Of one 
thing I was entirely certain, and I said as much to my new 
friend. Whatever decision my mother came to, the fact of 
the splendors or state of Mallerdean would not influence 
her. I knew too well what were her ideas of a happy life 
to think that outward show or great so-called importance 
was of any value to one of her clear, single-minded point 
of view. Again the good-natured but conventional woman 
of the world to whom I felt my mother so much superior 
smiled indulgently and said, in a way that rather irritated 
my American spirit of independence, “ We shall see, my 
dear. Time will tell,” and as we drew up before a very 
fine-looking private dwelling she added : “ Here we are at 
Gobould’s. It is to be hoped that she has something 
stylish ready-made. You are sixteen, I believe you said, my 
love, and surely might begin to wear something more like a 
young lady. Your costume is altogether too childish.” 

Her manner was so sweet and kind that it was impossible 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


243 


to take offense at any of her criticisms, and I was presently 
following Lady Kate’s large figure in its rich summer toilet 
up a flight of marble stairs and into the first of a very 
gorgeous suite of rooms, where tor the next hour I was in 
the hands of Mme. Gobould herself, who found two or 
three costumes for me which she declared “ ravissante,” 
and which to my eyes were charming enough for a princess, 
so that Lady Kate’s very languid approval and her many 
criticisms surprised me exceedingly. The price of these 
dresses, and a pretty summer wrap and hat with white 
plumes and pink roses on a broad brim took my breath 
away. Yet I fancy any girl of sixteen will understand the 
delight with whir* X surveyed my figure in its new attire, a 
gown of pale gray China silk and crepe, fashioned as only 
a Parisian modiste could make it, contrasting well with the 
white chip hat with its rich plumes and blush roses, while a 
dainty little garment, what madame called a “ trifle,” of 
ribbons, lace and soft gray wool, completed this, to me, 
marvelous toilet, kid gloves and a parasol being added at 
the first shop we visited. No wonder, thought I, blushing 
and laughing with delight, that my Cousin Geoffrey scarcely 
recognized me as we kept our appointment near the famous 
Madonna in the Louvre, and I must confess to being 
highly pleased by his evident approval, while Lady Kate’s 
comment, “ You really do your name credit,” was gratifying, 
in spite of a suggestion which I fancied reflected on my 
mother’s good taste in matters of my dress. 

Other purchases were to be made, but Geoffrey accom- 
panied us, and Lady Kate allowed him to offer various 


244 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


opinions, declaring that, “ for a young man,” he had un- 
commonly good taste, while I felt altogether too bewildered 
and elated to offer any suggestions. Shopping, indeed ! 
Have I ever understood the full meaning of the term before ! 
All manner of dainty trifles for my toilet were purchased, 
besides necessary articles for use, and I could fancy Susan’s 
delight in taking care of these things, feeling no longer 
afraid to have Mary Burge inspect my dressing table. I 
determined to go off with Geoffrey, if possible, the next day 
for the Bardistons’ presents, not caring, for some reason 
hard to define, to speak of them to Lady Kate Hollis. 

But, for this day at least, our purchases were at last com- 
plete ; and, explaining that, like many others in the diplo- 
matic circle, she and Sir Thomas Hollis were detained in 
Paris late in the season, Lady Kate said that we would 
drive to her house for a cup of tea, and let the little girls 
have a chance to meet me. 

I was content to follow any lead, and thoroughly enjoyed 
going into Lady Kate’s fine house in the Champs Elysee, 
where, ascending a gorgeous staircase of white marble, 
lined on either side with pots of flowers, Geoffrey and I 
followed her ladyship into a beautiful salon, where every 
thing was light in cblor, rich though fanciful in design and 
upholsterers’ work, yet for all its elegance lacking some- 
thing which would have made it homelike as well as fine, 
and which the stateliest rooms at Mallerdean possessed. 

Lady Kate bade Geoffrey ring a bell, when her ladyship 
desired the servant to “ tell Madame Hamilton and the 
young ladies that she desired their presence as soon as 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


245 


possible." After which, with a look at Geoffrey which was, 
I thought, very wistful, she said, “ Try and say something 
encouraging to Gwendoline. I hope you will think, Geoff, 
that she is looking better." And a few moments later I 
knew what this meant, when the English governess appeared 
with her little charges. One of them was a spirited little 
girl of seven or eight, plain-looking but blooming and 
healthy, while the other — the oldest — the first-born and the 
mother’s idol — a girl of twelve, was painfully, though by 
no means repulsively, deformed. Born with spine-disease 
for which there was no cure, poor Gwendoline Hollis led 
as sad a life of suffering and self-denial as I have 
ever known, and not all the wealth or luxury with which 
she was surrounded, not all the care and devotion lavished 
upon her, could alleviate a misery which must be life-long, 
yet which, I fancied, was harder for her mother to bear than 
if it had been her very own. The child’s face had that 
spiritual sort of loveliness which we see often in deformed 
people; her soft golden hair fell so like a cloud of light upon 
her shoulders that it was with real sincerity I exclaimed in 
a low tone to Lady Kate, “ How lovely she is ! " And I 
never shall forget the look of gratitude in the poor mother’s 
eyes, while I believe from that moment a better understand- 
ing existed between us. Geoffrey, who was evidently a 
prime favorite with the children as well as with their mother, 
was speedily in the midst of a talk with them, which resulted 
in peals of laughter from Gwendoline as well as little Kate, 
while their mother looked on approvingly ; and once when, 
for some reason, I had detached myself from the merry 


246 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


group, she said in a low tone to me, “ There is no one in 
the world like Geoffrey Germaine ! He has just the sort 
of nature and temperament to make every one around him 
happy. I only wish with all his good qualities he had a 
fortune. But, after all, he has talents enough, my husband 
often says, to make his way in the world.’' 

But as I glanced in the direction of my cousin’s tall 
figure and noble, spirited face, with its mingling of sweetness 
and strength, I felt, for what reason I can hardly say, glad 
that, like myself, he was facing the world without a for- 
tune ! 

I made great friends with the children before I left, and 
then it was explained that, as Sir Henry thought it not 
worth my while to leave the hotel just for the day and 
night of his absence, Mrs. Hamilton was to return with me, 
and so she and I set forth under Geoffrey’s escort, he de- 
claring that the sunset hour was so lovely we must walk 
back to our hotel. 

I have been in Paris many times since those happy 
summer days of which this was the first, yet the city can 
never possess again quite the same indefinable and brilliant 
charm which made it then like an enchanted country to my 
vision. As we walked that evening through the gay streets 
about which a sunset-tinted sky was shining, every one 
seemed to my happy eyes prosperous and beaming, and I 
could not fancy a thought or a care marring this universal 
air of satisfaction. Geoffrey dined with us, and afterwards 
we all sat in the balcony looking out upon the streets, above 
which a star-lit summer sky was throbbing, while from some 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


247 


distant point we could hear the music of an open-air con- 
cert ; and Geoffrey called my attention to the fact that, 
like the day down in Devonshire when we had met for the 
first time, the band was playing ‘‘ Dinorah.” 

When I went to my room for the night it was with the 
dainty, tripping measure of the Shadow Waltz again in my 
ears ; but the sight of Susan, regarding with silent admira- 
tion my new possessions which were spread out on view, 
recalled me to the every-day world again, and I sat up with 
her another hour, opening and shutting boxes, examining 
with childish delight the contents of each, and getting her 
to help me in making out a list of just the sort of presents 
the Bardistons would like, while I determined that those 
nice young people at Merrivale, and Annie Ross herself, 
should not be forgotten. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE RECONCILIATION. 



HE next morning early brought a letter from my uncle 


written the night before. He was “ on the track of 
Conway,” he said, but would return the following day to 
meet my mother. I felt sure she would not fail in her time 
of coming, and so anxious had I grown to see her once 
again that but for Geoffrey Germaine I do not know how I 
would have got through that day and evening. But, after 
lunching with Lady Kate, he carried me off to the Louvre, 
where we spent the whole of the afternoon, Geoffrey helping 
me to understand the pictures in a way which has forever 
endeared them to my mind and heart ; and after a walk in 
> some delightful gardens, where I saw and laughed heartily 
over a marionette performance, we returned to dinner, and 
to spend the evening with Lady Kate and her children. Sir 
Thomas being hard at work at the embassy. But mean- 
while Geoffrey had declared that I must have some souvenir 
from him of this happy day ; and accordingly we visited 
what he said was a “ pet shop of his ” in the Palais Royal, 
where, after a long search he found a little ring which just 
suited me, a circlet of gold studded half way across with 
pearls, and which I think I will wear until my hand is at 
rest forever. We had another happy walk home under the 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 249 

Starlight, and this time I went to bed thrilled and excited 
over the thought of what to-morrow had in store for me, 
the meeting, under such strange and unexpected circum- 
stances, with my mother. 

Sir Henry arrived in due time, reaching the Hotel Bristol 
about two o’clock, and saying at once that he had stopped 
on his way from the train at the address given by my 
mother, and there learned that she and the Hills were 
expected about two o’clock. 

“ I left a line in your name,” my unc/e said, as after our 
luncheon we were driving through the sunny streets to my 
mother, saying that she might expect you, but explaining 
nothing.” 

We were almost silent after this, each, I suppose, too 
occupied with our own thoughts on the same subject to 
make a speech possible, but suddenly, 

“ Here we are, Helen,” said my uncle’s voice at my side, 
and I saw that the carriage had rolled under an arched 
gateway, and in a moment more we were making our 
inquiries of the concierge, who informed us that “Madame 
had arrived.” 

My uncle returned to the carriage, telling me to go up- 
stairs and come for him at my mother’s bidding. 

The Hills occupied a suite of rooms on the second story 
of this apartment house. Mother’s plan was to leave them 
there as soon as she conveniently could, feeling her duty in 
regard to them at an end. But as I went up the wide mar- 
ble steps I wondered what she would think when she heard 
my story, and I stood still an instant recalling the day four 


250 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY, 


months ago when she had bidden me farewell after our en- 
counter with the uncle who seemed now to me the embodi- 
ment of every thing that was generous, noble, and true. 
The end of the romance seemed to have come, and I for the 
first time realized the consequence of events dividing that 
long ago August morning from to-day. How little had I 
supposed mother and I would meet again under these won- 
derful happy circumstances ! 

She was alone in the parlor of the rooms when I entered, 
and sprang forward to meet me, clasping me in her arms 
with a cry of joy. 

“ Why, my darling ! ” she exclaimed, “ what brought you 
to Paris? Miss Bayard is here of course.” 

I shook my head, smiled through a little mist of tears, 
and, drawing back from my mother, said, 

“ No, mother dearest, not Miss Bayard — some one else — 
but first there is a long, happy story that I must tell you.” 

I don’t know how it was, but in a moment I con- 
trived to be sitting by her on the sofa with my arm about 
her waist and my head upon her shoulder in the old familiar 
fashion, and then I said very quietly, and almost with a 
sense that a prayer was in the undercurrent of my heart : 

“ Mother, you are going to be very much surprised. 
What would you say if I told you that every thing that was 
unhappy when you were young is at an end — that he — 
your enemy — ” I smiled involuntarily as I said the meaning- 
less and foolish word — “ is here in Paris and he knows that 
Uncle Allan never forged that check ! ” 

She started as through some one had dealt her a blow, but, 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


251 


the ice broken, I rushed into the story while she listened, 
now and then drawing deep breaths of pain, or perhaps 
intense relief, holding me closer and closer, kissing my hair 
once or twice, and finally lifting my face up to look at me 
with eyes that were shining with happy tears. 

“Oh, Helen,” she said, softly, drawing me to her again. 
“ God is so much better to us than we ever are to Him. So 
much better than we deserve. See how He has forgiven me 
my pride and resentment, and taught me mercy and love 
through His own.” 

We sat silent for a moment, happy in the consciousness 
of once more being together, and I feeling the delicious 
satisfaction of nearness to my mother’s arms which nothing 
— nothing in the world ever can be like, and mother, think- 
ing, no doubt, of too many and too deep things to put into 
words. Then I said, softly : 

“ But Uncle Harry, mother, he is waiting.” 

And mother started to her feet, bidding me go at once 
and bring him to her. 

They said nothing for a moment when they met, these 
two, once so near to each other and so long divided. My 
uncle took my mother’s hands in his and kissed her ten- 
derly in silence, and at last she said : 

“ Henry, I wronged you always, I believe. Will you for- 
give me ? ” 

And he answered in the simple and direct way he had : 

“ Ada, there is no need of any talk of forgiveness between 
us. We must just together clear Allan’s name.” 

It was hard, I think, for them to talk of any thing in that 


252 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


first interview but the sad event which had separated them, 
and the mystery which my uncle believed he would soon 
solve once and forever. Yet I suppose that the very best 
way for them to come to a satisfactory understanding was 
by this very means. They had parted because of this 
question, and it was natural that in their first hour of re- 
union the same subject should be revived. For myself I 
was satisfied enough to see them sitting together deep in 
confidential talk, which if, on my mother’s side, it was now 
and then constrained, yet had enough of what was com- 
forting and hopeful in it to make me feel that time only 
was required to set them back into their earliest feeling of 
brotherly and sisterly friendship. It appeared that Uncle 
Henry had found out Philip Conway’s present address, 
which was in a remote Swiss town, and thither, taking with 
him one of the ablest French detectives, my uncle proposed 
to go as soon as he had escorted us back to England. 
During this part of the conversation I could not help 
observing that my mother’s color changed once or twice, 
and when Uncle Henry said in his very kindest tone, 

Of course, Ada, you will not think now of returning to 
America,” 

She rose abruptly, looked at me, and then walked over 
to the window, where sne stood for a moment in silent 
agitation. 

“ Surely ! ” he exclaimed, “ you can not hesitate about 
this ; you would not leave us now after all these years.” 

Some hard struggle, it was evident, was going on in her 
mind. 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


253 


“ I do not know,” she said in a low tone, and again 
looking at me. “ How can I tell, Henry, what is best for 
me to do ? I can not bring my child up in a false 
position ! Unless I can lay by enough out of my own 
earnings she must support herself, and it would be so much 
better in every way to do this in America, where we are 
known and respected ” — my mother’s voice trembled — 
“ and where a woman is not looked down upon for making 
her own way when there is need of it. No, I can not submit 
her to servitude here.” 

My mother’s hand was laid upon my arm and she looked 
at her step-brother with eyes full of tears. He moved 
forward, making a gesture of disdain for what she had been 
saying. 

“Ada, what are you thinking of ! ” he exclaimed, in a 
tone which was half angry, half amused. “ Are you wild 
enough to suppose for an instant that such a thing could 
be thought of — that after finding you and feeling that my 
lonely house might have something cheerful and happy 
in it, I could let you go ? Ada, for all your pride in the 
old days, you were never cruel or weakly obstinate. Why 
are you trying to be both now ? ” 

By this time I had begun to sob quite audibly, which 
distressed both my mother and Sir Henry, and when my 
uncle said, “ Helen — speak to your mother— tell her how 
lovingly we have treated you, and beg of her not to leave 
us now at least,” I fiung my arms about her neck and 
besought of her to stay a little while — to go back with me, 
if not to Mallerdean, to Little Britton House where Miss 


254 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Bayard was even now no doubt hourly expecting us ; and 
something earnest and effective I must have said about the 
way I loved them all, for in another moment mother was 
crying too, and so this point at least was gained. Before 
Sir Henry quitted us, arranging to send for mother and my- 
self within an hour, it was settled that the next day 
Geoffrey should be our escort back to England, while my 
uncle started on his final investigations of the matter of 
the forged check. 

When we were alone I knelt beside my mother’s chair, 
and poured forth all the story of that summer time, giving 
details which interested, amused, and touched her. The 
events were so recently and vividly impressed upon my 
mind, the people all so interesting to me — that my word- 
pictures were graphic, and she laughed gayly with me now 
and again, enjoying, I am sure, the mere fact that the silence 
of years was at last broken and she was able to give me 
various bits of entertaining and interesting information con- 
nected with the people I had been among ; she told me that 
she remembered old Admiral Lesley and Lady Dowling as 
“very wonderful personages in her young days,” while her 
account of the Deanery ghost was full enough to have 
enchanted Sissy Bardiston and kept the little Goodwins 
howling with terror for a week ! Even of the Bardistons 
she knew enough in old times to take a strong interest in 
every thing that concerned them, and I was delighted to 
find that she remembered the Rosses with peculiar affection ; 
but through all the conversation Miss Bayard and Charlie 
were our favorite subjects, and she told me much that was 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


255 


beautiful to hear of Charlie’s mother, the sweet young 
sister of Sir Henry Paulding, and “ who, Helen,” said my 
mother, “ I loved like my very own. I feel sure that my 
letter to her from America never was delivered, or I must 
have had one in return, but — ” my mother’s hands were 
upon my shoulders and she gazed into my face, her blue 
eyes full of tender meaning — “ but — let me confess it to you, 
little daughter — pride as well as grief kept me silent, and 
as years went on, and I had to struggle with poverty as 
well as your poor father’s illness, I could not bear to write 
again, lest I seem to be asking a favor because of my need.” 

“ But, mother darling,” I pleaded, “ now you see it is all 
so different ! We are independent although we are poor, 
and yet they want us ! If you could see the beautiful rooms 
waiting for you at Mallerdean — and do look at this frock, 
which I am tumbling all to pieces kneeling here on the 
floor. Even Lady Kate said I did credit to my name in it ! ” 
And as I sprang to my feet to display my soft gray 
finery, mother said with an amused little laugh, 

“ Did Lady Kate say that ? It sounds very like her, 
even as a little girl. She was old Lord Germaine’s daugh- 
ter, and I remember her a pretty little creature, but very 
conventional and prim, when Amy Bayard and I were big, 
romping girls, years older than little Lady Kate Brooks. 
That was the family name you know. Poor woman,” 
added mother softly, “ what a grief to think that her poor 
child should be so afflicted ! ” 

However it had happened, our talk had certainly put my 
mother into the very frame of mind Uncle Henry most 


256 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


desired ; and when he returned at the hour named, saying 
that “ Kate Hollis would have-it we should dine with them, 
to my surprise she consented with cheerful alacrity, going 
away to make some changes in her always simple dress ; 
and meanwhile the Hills appeared and had to be told some- 
thing of the strange events which had taken place in 
mother’s absence. 

“ Won’t the girls all be astonished ? ” said Stella Hill in 
an excited voice to me, while her sister, with a great deal 
of pretty manner, was entertaining my uncle. “ But there, 
Helen ! Over and often at the school have we said that we 
felt sure that your mother had some romantic history. I 
don’t know why, but she always had the air of a duchess 
in disguise. What do you suppose Mrs. Flower will say ? ” 
And, scarcely waiting for me to answer, Stella rattled on : 
“ Is this Lady Kate where you are going really a relation of 
yours ? How delightful ! You must give me all the grandees’ 
names and their titles to tell the girls when I get home.” 

But at this moment Sir Henry’s voice was heard saying 
in friendly accents to Miss Hill, “ We shall hope to see you 
and your sister at Mallerdean before you return to America,” 
which caused Stella to close her eyes in silent joy while 
she pressed my hand, almost dislocating my fingers ! 

A moment more and we were in Uncle Henry’s carriage 
driving rapidly in the direction of the Champs Elysees, 
where, as we ascended the fine staircase leading to Lady 
Kate’s salon, it flashed across my mind how thoroughly at 
home in these surroundings my mother looked ; and then I 
knew how entirely simple and above worldly considerations 


MY' MO THER 'S ENEM Y. ' 


257 


her nature really was, since not once could I recall an 
occasion in all our close intercourse when she had ever 
mentioned the state or ceremonial of her old life, or showed 
the least regret for any thing connected with it, which of 
her own free will she had given up. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MY mother’s sickness. 


I T was to be that many times in the days to come I should 
enjoy the hospitality of Sir Thomas and Lady Kate 
Hollis, but, naturally enough, nothing ever seemed to me 
pleasanter than that first dinner party in the Champs 
Elysee, with Geoffrey Germaine on the one side of me, talk- 
ing in his good-humored fashion, and on the other Sir 
Thomas Hollis ; for it was exclusively a family party, Lady 
Kate saying that she knew mother would prefer it should 
be so. But whether in days to come I am ever tempted to 
tell more of the story of my youth, and so revert to the 
Hollis’s again, I must take leave of them for the present 
here, since it is the events which followed this period of my 
life we have now to consider. 

Early on the Wednesday morning we parted at the rail- 
way station from my uncle, he journeying to Switzerland, 
while we under Geoffrey’s escort made our way back to 
England, not even pausing in Hilford, so great was mother’s 
anxiety, once we had started, to reach Britton-Marsh, and 
to meet her old friend and cousin, Amabel Bayard. 

But before we had accomplished our journey I saw that 
she was far from well. Indeed, her Russian experiences, 
Stella Hill’s trying illness, as well as the intense anxiety and 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


259 


care it entailed, had shaken her nerves, and the excitement 
following her arrival in Paris finally told upon a constitution 
which, I am sure, was at no time very strong. So that 
before we reached Britton-Marsh Geoffrey and I saw plainly 
that my mother was in too feverish and over-wrought a 
condition to complete the journey, and, terrified by a sudden 
fainting fit which seized her as we were nearing Britton 
Bay, I took all the responsibility of our leaving the train 
there, and with Geoffrey’s tender and thoughtful help 
managed to convey her in a carriage as far as the Berlin 
Bazar. All thought of romance connected with our 
journey, every kind of conjecture and inquiry, which, on 
any other occasion. Sissy and Mrs. Bardiston would have 
indulged in, were merged now into the intense anxiety one 
and all felt for my mother. Sissy proved herself invaluable 
in the emergency. Almost silently she contrived to let me 
know that the drawing-rooms were at our disposal, and in 
an incredibly short space of time my dear little mother was 
comfortably in bed. Cuthbert had rushed off for a doctor, 
while Geoffrey took the next train to Britton-Marsh, and 
before an hour had elapsed the physician had come and 
gone, pronounced it a case of low nervous fever, and prom- 
ised to return by the time Miss Bayard could be ex- 
pected. 

What was my frame of mind I need scarcely try to define. 
Every thought, every bright anticipation, every happy event 
in the past, was forgotten for the moment, swept away to the 
winds by the supreme anguish of that dreadful emergency ; 
for what, I asked myself as I knelt beside her while she 


26 o 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


slept, what was it all worth compared to her life — her so 
needed, so prized companionship ! No ingratitude towards 
my new friends, I am sure, existed in my feeling, but all the 
cry of my heart, all the longing, was only for my mother, 
and I knew then that my greatest chance of happiness was 
bound up in her ; and in that hour, whether we journeyed 
back to America, and I faced life as one of the toilers of the 
world, or whether we stayed here in happy leisure, mattered 
simply nothing at all if only God would spare her to me 
if but for a little longer. 

I cried my heart out, but silently, for her sleep was restless 
and feverish, when I felt a soft hand on my shoulder, and 
looked up with a stifled cry of relief to see Cousin Amy’s 
face bending above me. Even while she kissed me, holding 
me close to her heart for an instant, I whispered, “ Oh, 
Cousin Amy — must she die ? Will God take her ? ” 

“ My darling,” was whispered back to me, what can 
we say ? We must hope always and trust — but I think He 
will let us save her.” 

1 can not tell you much of the story of the days imme- 
diately following this dreadful night. I know that after the 
first effort to keep me away, lest the fever prove contagious, 
they yielded to my desire to be always near her, and I think 
that even in her delirium she knew me, and liked best to 
take what was necessary to be given her from my hand. 
And God was merciful — merciful, I now think, both in 
sparing her life and in sending that illness ; for during her 
long convalescence, in the days when she seemed to be 
coming back, at it were, to life itself, many things which had 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 26 1 

grieved her, many questions which she would have contested 
perhaps with my uncle, seemed to drift away, and she grew 
accustomed to thinking of those around her as her best 
friends, to watching eagerly for letters from Sir Henry, and, 
as it seemed, to identify herself once more with her old 
home and her old ties of friends and kinship. 

What a day was that oh which she was able for the first 
time to be carried out to the sofa in the drawing-room, 
and how proud was Geoffrey of his strong young arms, in 
which he lifted her slender frame as though she had been 
a mere baby ; and when, having placed her comfortably on 
the pillow Cousin Amy and I had arranged, he stooped 
down and kissed her as a boy of her own might have done — 
oh! so tenderly and with such reverence — I saw her eyes fill 
with tears, while Geoff turned quickly towards me and 
began to speak, in a hurried way, of our journey in a day 
or two to Britton-Marsh. 

On the whole I was not ill pleased that mother had seen 
for herself how good and kind and sincerely affectionate 
they all were, and it was an especial gratification that the 
Bardistons had been able to prove themselves such sym- 
pathetic and attentive friends, for I had dreaded any thing 
like a real break with Sissy and Cuthbert, and even the 
little Goodwins ; but now their goodness to my mother — it 
was shown in ways twenty times a day that no money 
could have bought or paid for — had created a bond which 
all the splendor or conventionality of life at Mallerdean 
itself could not sever. 

All this time I had not seen my little Charlie ; but early 


262 


MY MOTHER* S EMEMY. 


one September morning Miss Nettleship appeared to 
announce the fact that Charlie and she were at Mallerdean, 
and “ if only I could come up there it would be such a 
comfort.” 

Mrs. Bardiston was with my mother, and both begged 
that I would go to my little cousin at once ; and you may 
well imagine that I was only too impatient to be off, know- 
ing that my mother would need for nothing in my ab- 
sence. 

How delightful it seemed to be once more entering the 
gateway of Mallerdean — to know that Charlie was waiting 
for me, and that, whatever mother’s ultimate decision in 
regard to our future, there need no longer be any thought 
of estrangement from my dearest cousin. So it was with 
a light heart and a quick step that I followed Miss Nettle- 
ship up the staircase and down the corridor^ to Charlie’s 
rooms. On the sofa, in the little book or school room, he 
lay, waiting for me with an eager, radiant look on his little 
face, which flushed it so that for an instant I did not real- 
ize how worn and ill he looked. 

“ Charlie, Charlie ! ” I exclaimed softly, and putting my 
cheek to his kissed him so tenderly, “ just think, my dear- 
est, our story — the story we found out — is really better 
than all the rest, isn’t it ? ” 

Charlie put up his thin little hands to my face, one on 
each cheek after a fashion he had, and regarded me sol- 
emnly for an instant. 

“ I think it’s all perfectly beautiful,” he said, with his 
quaintest little look. “ Martha must learn it so that once in 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 263 

a while she can tell it all to us. She knows it all, doesn’t 
she ? ” he added earnestly. 

I answered, trying not to betray any amusement, that I 
was sure she knew it thoroughly, and would like nothing 
better, when the winter evenings grew long, than to tell it 
to us ; and then I had to give every detail of my Paris 
experiences, and finally displayed the presents I had brought 
home for him. These were various military accouterments, 
with which Charlie was delighted, and while examining 
them he inquired whether I was not glad to have Geoffrey 
Germaine for a cousin. 

“ That seems to me one of the nicest parts of the story,” 
said Charlie, leaning back against his pillows, a trifle tired 
by having pulled the little sword in and out of its scabbard 
several times and flourished it in the direction of an imag- 
inary foe of England ; “ you see Geoff is as good as any 
hero. He is so splendid looking — and so strong and good. 
I believe he has a high temper, but you know there must 
be something'* 

“ Oh yes,” I answered laughing, “ a hero without any 
faults would be very tiresome.” 

Charlie’s brows drew together a little anxiously as he 
said, 

“ But Uncle Henry is a hero too — especially if he finds 
out who forged the check.” 

Yes, indeed, Charlie,” I exclaimed ; “ and do you know, 
we have every reason to think that he is coming home suc- 
cessful, from the letter mother received last night.” 

“To-morrow, isn’t it ? ” said Charlie. “ I know that Mrs. 


264 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


Dewby said she was having every thing aired, and fires 
ready for lighting in his room.” 

We chatted for an hour longer, and I departed, promiS' 
ing to return as soon as possible for another visit, even if 
mother did not come at once to stay at Mallerdean. Re- 
turning on foot, for the walk was most enjoyable in this 
soft autumn weather, I was surprised to see Sir Henry’s 
carriage coming rapidly along the road, but it was vacant ; 
and on entering Mrs. Bardiston’s house by way of the shop 
Sissy met me with the information that my uncle had ar- 
rived, and was now in the drawing-room with Miss Bayard 
and my mother. 

“ I suppose it means that you are at last going,” said 
Sissy wistfully. “ Well, I am sure, Helen, it’s been a pleas- 
ure to mother and to me to have had you with us.” 

I answered her with some affectionate nonsense, and 
hastened up-stairs where, the moment I entered the draw- 
ing-room, I knew that Sir Henry was the bearer of good 
tidings, for he and Miss Bayard and my mother turned 
faces of smiling satisfaction upon me, and in a few mo- 
ments I had learned the whole story. 

After various delays, in which the patience of my uncle 
and the ingenuity of the French detective were put to every 
test, the man Conway was at last discovered in a Belgian 
watering place, living under an assumed name. No need 
is there for me to repeat all the circumstances which led to 
his confessing the details of the crime to my uncle. A 
promise not to prosecute him was made, and at last the true 
history of the case was told. It appears that, knowing 


MY MOTHER'S ENEMY. 265 

my Uncle Allan had begun to suspect him of tampering 
with the books, he determined to get him, as quickly as 
possible, out of the country, helped him to secure berths 
in a ship sailing for Australia on a certain day, promising, 
if necessary, to loan him money for the undertaking. 
Meanwhile Allan applied in vain to his step-brother, as we 
know, and, reporting his failure to Conway a few days later, 
was surprised by being told that my Uncle Henry had sent 
him privately a check for his younger brother, but about 
which he was requested to say nothing. Conway advised 
him to cash it at once, and sail by the ship which set out 
the next day. Allan, of course, suspected no treachery, and 
the intentions of the real criminal had been, as my uncle 
supposed, to deny any thing Allan might have said which 
could implicate him ; and, as there were no witnesses to 
their conversation, this could have been easily effected. 
With Allan, of course, had died all suspicion of the man in 
this connection ; but when my uncle found him he had 
fallen into such troubled and evil ways that he had no 
longer any reputation to lose, and for a certain sum of 
money was willing enough to sign a confession of his crime, 
which my uncle had caused to be published in a London 
and a Hilford newspaper, while the bank company had all 
been notified that Allan Marsh's memory at last was vindi- 
cated.* 

With what a thankful, beating heart I listened to this 
story, holding my mother’s hand tightly clasped in mine ; 
and then Sir Henry said, smiling. 


♦The facts of the above case are almost literally true. 


266 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


‘^Now, Helen, we are talking to your mother about your 
future. What do you say ? Are you in a hurry to return 
to America ? ” 

There rushed across my mind, at that moment, only the 
remembrance of the agony I had suffered during her illness, 
when it had seemed to me that the one desirable good in 
life was to be near her, and so I could only answer now 
that I loved them all most truly, but it must be “ whatever 
mother says — whatever she wishes.’" 

And I verily believe that, in that hour, I would have 
opposed her in no decision, so long as it insured our being 
together ; but Cousin Amy settled the question, for the 
present at least. 

No plan, I think,” she said in her sweet voice, and with 
her kind eyes resting on my mother’s face, no plan can be 
better than mine. Come to Little Britton House with me, 
rest there, and think it all over. You will be doing all 
the Ross family a favor in letting the eldest girl go out in 
your place to Mrs. Flower. Then, when you are quite well 
and strong, you will be able to come to some just decision.” 

And so it was settled, I think as much to my uncle’s 
satisfaction as ours, for he seemed well pleased when the 
day came for our removal to Britton-Marsh, to the dear, 
old-fashioned house where I had learned to know and love 
my cousin Amy. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


A MARRIAGE AT LITTLE BRITTON HOUSE. 

L ittle Britton House on a certain December morning. 

This is the scene which rises next to my mind. There is 
a flurry of snow to be seen outside of the drawing-room win- 
dows, but within every thing is indicative of good cheer and 
the pleasurable excitement attending some important domes- 
tic occasion. Geoff and I have been busy almost since day- 
break, and are now employed putting the last touches of 
decoration, in the way of greens and flowers, to the old 
room. 

Looks fine, doesn’t it? ” Geoff is saying, seated on the arm 
of the sofa and calmly surveying his work. “ When it comes 
your turn to be married, Helen, I’ll do the same for you — 
unless,” he adds, with a twinkle of his blue eyes, “ you have 
concluded to take me on that occasion in a different capac- 
ity.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, Geoff,” I say as severely as possi- 
ble. “ Have you observed lately how beautiful Cousin Amy 
is looking?” I add, and Geoffrey answers that he found all 
that out long ago. 

Stranger events have happened, I am sure, than this, yet 
there will always be a touch of poetry and romance about 
Uncle Henry’s marriage to my Cousin Amy, which on the 


268 


MV MOTHER* S RNEmV. 


day in question was to take place. Every one was so more 
than satisfied with this result of their renewed friendship 
that Geoff and I would have liked to fill Little Britton House 
with a merry company, and conduct the affair as gayly as 
possible, but Cousin Amy said a “ middle-aged wedding” 
like theirs ought to be very quiet ; but when at mid-day we 
assembled in the little church up on the hill to witness this 
most solemn ceremony of two lives, I am sure that no one 
could have called the bride any thing but lovely, and certainly, 
as the whole town seemed to have remarked later. Sir Henry 
appeared to have grown ten years younger since the day he 
had come on a successful wooing to the mistress of Little 
Britton House. And in this wedding there was none of the 
melancholy which separation from other loved ones involves. 
Sir Henry and Lady Paulding were to take up their resi- 
dence, almost at once, at Mallerdean, mother and I remain- 
ing at Little Britton House, and at Christmas time a family 
party, which would include many of those mentioned in my 
narrative, was planned in the old manor house which Sir 
Henry never again could call lonely or unhomelike. 

So, when the last of the wedding guests had driven away, 
Geoff, mother, and I sitting in the firelight together, decided 
that no change in our little circle could have been more to 
our general satisfaction, and Geoff remarked, with the wis- 
dom of twice his years, that people were so foolish ever “ to 
marry strangers.” Mother laughed gayly, looking up at the 
young fellow’s honest face as he spoke. 

“ I am very certain,” he continued, with a flush of color, 
“ that, even if I had to wait as long as Cousin Henry did for 


MV MOTHER* S ENEMY, 269 

his bride I would rather feel that the woman I married had 
been waiting for me — my friend all this time.” 

Mother turned the subject quickly, I remember, saying 
that if we were to go down to the school house, where the 
children were to be feasted in honor of this occasion, it was 
time to be off ; and accordingly we started, mother, Geoff, 
and I, with the happy sense of companionship which, since 
her illness, had grown upon us. For instead of saying, as 
we so often used to do, “ we two ” will do this or that, it had 
come to be oftener “ we three,” for Geoff had never relin- 
quished the place like a son’s which she had given him in 
those days of convalescence over at Britton Bay. 

And so, when the Christmas season of this happy year 
appeared, when mother was making up her mind to consent 
to an arrangement whereby she and I would live at Little 
Britton House, it was Geoffrey’s pleading which really in- 
fluenced her the most — Geoffrey, who declared that if we 
left England he would “ give up the profession he had just 
entered upon and cast in his lot with us the other side of the 
pond.” 

Perhaps another strong influence was the fact that, in 
accepting what my uncle declared to be “ her share of what 
he had realized from.the purchase of my grandfather’s prop- 
erty at Merrivale,” she would be able to carry out various 
schemes for the benefit of others whom she loved — the 
Rosses, the Bardistons, who had her warmest sympathy, and 
some humble old friends whom she had found during a visit 
to the Vails, and last, but by no means least, I, her one child, 
would be spared a life of toil and perhaps loneliness among 


270 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


strangers. But on one point she was firm. She would take 
only what would enable us to live simply, without ostenta- 
tion, and with a fair margin for her charities. “ I was no 
aristocrat,” she would often tell me laughing, after some of 
Lady Dowling’s or perhaps Geoffrey’s compliments, “ and 
I should not grow up considering myself a spoiled child of 
fortune.” No, come what would, I was not to be allowed 
to regard myself as having any claim upon the splendor or 
wide social advantages of Mallerdean. And I was content 
enough to be known, as I had always been — as just my 
mother’s daughter. 

Perhaps there were others in our circle who planned dif- 
ferently, but every one respected my mother’s point of 
view ; even Martha, who remained as our housekeeper in 
spite of the prospect of various visits to Mallerdean, and 
Susan, who delighted in waiting upon my mother as well as 
upon myself ; and Geoffrey, I well remember, assured me 
that “ no arrangement could please him better, for I feel,” 
he said, earnestly, “ a right of way at Little Britton House 
which is not always the case at Mallerdean.” 

Three o’clock on a clear, crisp Christmas Eve .saw us 
journeying to Mallerdean for that party, since famous in 
the annals of Britton Bay, for on this occasion Sir Henry 
Paulding determined to unite all old friends, and to extend 
invitations to every one who would do my mother honor as 
his sister, while Cousin Amy had spared no pains to make 
all the invited guests feel at home and happy. Even Sissy 
Bardiston had nothing to make her repine, for, to her great- 
delight, she was invited to pass a day and night at Mailer- 


MY MOTHERS S ENEMY. 


271 


dean, when she occupied a bedroom all to herself, furnished 
in such a style that she declared she had to lay awake 
enjoying her magnificence ; and a pretty evening dress, 
suitable and becoming, found its way from London to the 
Berlin Bazar, in which Sissy made her appearance at the 
famous party. 

Early in the evening Geoff and I contrived to establish 
Charlie comfortably on a sofa at one end of the drawing-room, 
whence he could look on at the festive scene ; and, brilliant 
and beautiful it was. Lady Paulding, to Martha’s extreme 
delight, appearing in a ball dress which certainly rivaled 
the lavender brocade, while my mother, in black velvet and 
the pearls which she had not worn for years, looked to my 
eyes the most charming figure in the room. As for myself, 
I was too happy to care much about my costume, but it 
delighted me to wear the amethysts, and now and again to 
indulge in a remark or two with Charlie about what 
Martha already called “ the necklace story,” and which she 
had related with every detail to an admiring circle the 
night before, in which the little Goodwins were included, so 
that it bid fair to become one of her favorite narrations. 

Late that evening — rather, should I say, towards the 
dawn of Christmas morning — mother and I sat alone in the 
firelight of her room, going over many of the events which 
I have related here, speculating, conjecturing as to some 
which seemed to lie ahead of us in the fair future ; and with 
gratitude I realized that my mother, in “ coming to her 
own again,” had put forever from her thoughts the feeling 
that my uncle ever could have been her “ enemy ; ” and if 


272 


MV MOTHER'S ENEMY. 


in the future I am tempted to tell the story of the days 
which followed, it will be remembering with what “ hearts 
truly grateful ” we echoed the message of the angels that 
happy Christmas Eve, “ Peace on earth — to men good will'' 


THE END. 


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